Mainstream
by JustaPegacorn
Summary: Fading star Eddie Gluskin is trying to make a comeback when the script of a lifetime falls into his lap: a story about a pornstar trying to make it as a mainstream actor. When Waylon Park is cast as his co-star, will Eddie be able to make the movie a success including acting outside his comfort zone and faking a relationship for the tabloids?
1. Chapter 1: Scripted

" _Lackluster performance…is it time for Hollywood to stop casting Eddie Gluskin, as a leading man…no longer a box office draw…more like box office poison…_ "

Eddie didn't need to read anymore. The words were a slap, but his face remained a calm mask. He pushed the magazine back across the desk

"I don't bother myself with reading the filth that passes for 'news' in the tabloids," said Eddie, staring hard across the table.

"Maybe you should start," said Jeremy Blaire, leaning back in his leather executive chair. Cold blue eyes stared, no doubt already calculating. "Where do you see yourself going in the future—with our Studio, Eddie?"

"I've enjoyed working with Murkoff for over a decade," said Eddie, his face a mask of indifference. "It's through working with the studio, and talented directors, that I have headlined so many blockbuster movies, and earned awards. I feel that, in the future, we can continue to work together, to continue my growth as an actor, and also to bring in revenue…"

"That's a nice little speech, but you're ignoring the last five years, Ed," said Jeremy. His chair squeaked as he shifted, leaning forward with his elbows on his large, mahogany desk. "You're ignoring the three disasters that failed to recoup even half their operating budget. You're not addressing the steady decline in audience numbers, and the growing amount of people writing articles like that one." Jeremy tapped ominously on the open periodical.

The magazine remained open on the desk, showing a picture of Eddie in his most frequent role, dressed in cheesy space armor with a computer generated spacescape behind him and a plastic-looking women clinging to his arm. The article was unflattering; the half-star out of five was insulting. Eddie made a mental note of the author's name. _Upshur_.

"According to my contract, I act where you send me, Jer," said Eddie, hunching forward in his chair. 'The script was asinine, I questioned the writer's' intellect. I can only assume it was written by a drunk frat boy who'd only heard of space from a Star Wars movie. The story was trite, my co-star a complete moron, barely able to make it through a scene. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to act an emotional scene in front of a green screen in a warehouse?"

"It's your job, Ed…"

"That type of acting isn't my forte, and I was upfront about that in the initial meetings. But, despite all these obstacles, I'm still damn proud of the performance I managed to give. I'm only an actor, I can't be responsible for every little thing required to ensure these films are a success."

Eddie pushed his fingers back through his hair, though not a single black strand was out of place in his undercut. He glared at the magazine.

"Yes, you're always quick to pass the blame," said Jeremy.

"When it's warranted," growled Eddie, his bright blue eyes, glinting dangerously.

"Yes, and it's always warranted, according to you, Ed," said Jeremy, chuckling. "You should probably turn the page. Since you haven't read it, you aren't even aware of the other half of the problem."

Eddie's eyes narrowed as he scooted to the edge of his seat. He used one finger to flip over the glossy magazine page. It was only through years of training as an actor, and his desensitization to tabloid filth, that Eddie was able to school his reaction.

 _Why Can't Eddie Gluskin Settle Down?_

The page was a collage of pictures depicting Eddie with every leading lady from the past decade on his arm. There were blurry, candid shots of him being removed from different events and bars over the years. And his unflattering mug shots.

"Everyone knows my past," said Eddie, shrugging. "Since when is my personal life a problem?"

"Since it started to affect your work, and the way the audience views you," said Jeremy. He gave a long sigh, slumping into his chair, again. "There's only one year left on your contract. Now, I've got a couple of projects on my desk, and it'd be easy to cast you as the father, or the police chief, or some other bit parts, just to see this contract to the end, before we part ways."

Eddie frowned. No use hiding his feelings—he was upset. According to his current contract, he couldn't work with another studio for over a year. If he spent that time working on nothing, after so many box office flops, he would never work in the industry again.

No. Eddie couldn't afford to think that way.

"What's the other option?" asked Eddie.

A slow smile spread on Jeremy's face, and continued to grow into something unsettling. Jeremy opened the top drawer on his desk and pulled out a bound stack of papers that could only be a script. He pushed it across the desk, shoving the magazine out of the way as he did. Eddie glanced down at the cover page.

 _Mainstream_. The writers were no one Eddie recognized. He pulled the script toward himself, frowning.

"What's it about?" asked Eddie, slowly opening to the first page.

"Stop right there," said Jeremy, pushing his chair back, before standing up. He gave a lazy, cat-like stretch, as though he wore comfy work-out clothes, rather than a black designer suit. "Take that home," said Jeremy, gesturing toward the script.

Eddie dropped the front page back, letting the script close. He made no further move to take the papers.

"I know you, Ed," said Jeremy, grinning. "If I tell you what it's about, you'll say 'no,' but I _really_ believe, with you in this picture, it could be big. Huge. This script could bring back your career. This could win you that Oscar. This," Jeremy slapped his hand on the desk, "is what you need. So go home, read the entire thing, and I'm calling you first thing in the morning."

Eddie stared, unconvinced.

Jeremy slapped the desk, again. "Read it."

* * *

Eddie watched the sunset from the backseat of his limousine. The script lay in the seat, next to him, calling his name. _Mainstream_. Eddie had no idea what to expect, as he stared down at the document. It would be a bother to read the entire script that night, but it was work. Helen would understand.

In a matter of seconds, Eddie's phone was dialing the number.

"Eddie!" squealed an adorably squeaky voice. "I'm just finishing up at the gym. I'm gonna shower here, and head over to pick you up. How'd the meeting go with Jeremy?"

"I'm afraid I have to cancel our plans tonight, darling," said Eddie, shifting the phone to his other ear. "It's work, you understand? Jeremy is forcing me to read a script tonight."

"Boo! It can wait, you're Eddie fucking Gluskin, you don't have to jump just because some upjumped studio executive hands you a script. This is a huge event for my friend's new athletic clothing line! You promised you'd show up! It's part of the reason the shop got so much press!"

"I'll send your friend my personal regrets," said Eddie, sitting back in the fake leather seat. "Truly, my hands are tied."

"This is the second time this month you've canceled on me, Eddie," said Helen. The pout was evident, even from the distance.

"I'm awfully sorry, darling, I truly wish I could make it," lied Eddie. "In reality, the idea of going to the party made him feel tired, rather than excited. Hollywood parties were all the same. Eddie had been going to them since he was a child. They were only exhausting.

"I'll see you when I get home tonight, then?" asked Helen.

"Of course, darling," said Eddie. "Have a great night."

"You too! Read that script! I hope it's a good one. See you soon! _Muah_!"

Eddie lowered the phone and brought two fingers up to his temples.

"We're almost there, Mr. Gluskin," came the driver's voice from over the speaker. Eddie had to stretch out to reach the switch that brought down the partition between himself and the front seat.

"David, have you heard of Flirty Girl Athletics?" asked Eddie.

"No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't," said David. He wore his usual uniform-nondescript black suit, black tie, and white shirt. "Why do you ask?"

"I haven't heard of it, either, but I was supposed to go to some event for it, and I won't be able to make it now," said Eddie. "I have an extra ticket if you want to go?"

"No, thanks, I'm neither a girl, nor athletic," said David.

"There'll be plenty of Hollywood starlets there," said Eddie.

"I'm actually still dating Julia," said David. Eddie could see him glance up in the rearview, and give a goofy grin. "We just celebrated our four month anniversary."

"That's something people celebrate?" asked Eddie. _Shit_. How long had he been living with Helen? Four months? Longer? Did their entire time shooting _Shallow Tides_ count toward that time?

"Some do," said David. "Anyways, thanks for the offer. How'd the meeting go?"

"Shitty," said Eddie, leaning forward to open the small cabinet in the back of the limousine. He pulled out a bottle of his favorite scotch and took one of the highball glasses. "Still getting nothing but terrible press about that damn abortion of a movie they forced me to do."

"Hey, Julia and I loved it! There was so much action! I liked the special effects."

"You're literally the only one in America, David," said Eddie. The clink of the bottle's edge hitting the glass rang through the cabin, followed by the splash of liquid. Eddie replaced the bottle, and sat back, sloshing the liquid. "I'd like to see these critics try to act out a serious scene about a dying…space mongoose…or whatever the hell that thing was supposed to be."

"Merky was our favorite," said David. Eddie visibly cringed before taking a huge swig from his glass. The burn helped chase away some of his irritation. He couldn't drink too much, though, or he'd never get the script finished that night.

"I appreciate the encouragement," said Eddie. He brought the glass up for another drink when the vibration in the seat beside him demanded his attention. Eddie placed the glass down and answered his phone.

"What the fuck is this I'm hearing about you getting a script from Jeremy?"

"It _just_ happened, not even an hour ago, Andrew, calm down," said Eddie, sighing. He reached for the switch to replace the partition. "I was going to read it over, then discuss it with you. If it's a bad script, I won't even consider it. I'm tired of acting out the pure shit Jeremy suggests."

"As your agent, I should be the one that Jeremy's dealing with, me, not you! That's not how this industry works," said Andrew. Eddie had to hold his phone slightly away from his ear.

"It's always been different with us, Andrew," said Eddie, his voice flat. "You're replaceable. Don't ever forget that. And your share is the same, no matter who finds the script."

"I'm coming over, I wanna see this script…"

"No, I'm reading it at home, tonight, _alone_ ," said Eddie. "I already had to cancel on Helen tonight, I don't want to waste more time on this than necessary." He felt the limousine come to a complete stop. A quick glance revealed Eddie's Bel Aire home out the tinted window. "I just pulled up to my house, I'm going to read tonight. We can discuss it again in the morning."

"I should read it, before you," said Andrew.

"I'll tell Jeremy of your concerns," said Eddie, sighing. "Have a good night, Andrew."

"Hey, reporters are wanting to do more interviews, a few are even agreeing to allow you to approve the questions before hand…"

"Not interested," said Eddie. "Goodnight."

David opened the door and held it while Eddie exited the car. The front of the mansion was tan stone with a huge, double staircase encircling a large fountain that lit up with sparkling light and splashing water. The large, double doors were crowned by a two-story tall window, perfectly framing an illuminated crystal chandelier.

Eddie avoided the front doors, walking around to the side entrance. He walked into his house, down a hallway, and into his kitchen. The refrigerator was full of healthy food that made Eddie cringe. Rabbit food. Not his choice.

The furniture in the kitchen was modern, sleek cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and glittering quartz countertops. The chairs resembled modern art sculptures. They were uncomfortable as hell. Eddie decided he wasn't hungry, after all.

The house seemed empty, though his live-in staff would be lurking around. They knew better than to bother Eddie at night. Eddie walked up the spiral staircase in the foyer, and down the hall into his study.

Compared to the rest of the mansion, the study was plain. Wood paneling lined the walls, and a wooden desk dominated the center of the room. One wall contained floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with books, and awards, Eddie had won. The opposite wall had several framed photographs and awards. Almost four decades of accomplishments crammed into one small room.

Eddie walked behind the desk and dropped the script on top of a pile of papers. _Mainstream_. Eddie sighed, flipped open the front page, and began to read.

No wonder Jeremy hadn't wanted him to read the script in the office. The synopsis at the beginning was enough to have Eddie rolling his eyes, and tossing the pages into the bin. A movie about a pornstar, fighting to become a mainstream actor. The scenes focused on the porn actor's struggles to be seen as a legitimate actor.

Instead of throwing the script away, Eddie couldn't put it down. The unknown writers had captured something elusive—something that instantly drew in the reader. The main character, Randall, was a deeply flawed man, trying to shake off his porn identify, Randy Bourbon, to become known as a real actor.

In the script, Randall struggled to be taken seriously, to avoid being used on the casting cough due to his former profession and finding confidence in himself. His strongest support comes from his agent. Felix Carter was an older man who discovered Randall in a strip club and instantly recognized his potential. A compelling story—it had everything.

It was the kind of script that won awards.

When Eddie finished reading, he glanced at the clock. Had he really just marathoned the entire script in three hours? It felt like no time at all.

The role was definitely outside of Eddie's comfort zone. Would the audience accept their former child star sweetheart, Eddie Gluskin, in the role of a pornstar? Would the world be able to view Hollywood's most eligible bachelor, and renowned womanizer, as a homosexual man? It was a very large stretch.

No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the script, he couldn't imagine himself in the role. He envisioned himself winning an Academy Award someday for portraying a war-hero, or a United States president—not an ex-pornstar.

Jeremy would be disappointed. That was nothing new.

A chime sounded through the mansion, alerting Eddie to the front door opening.

"Eddie-baby!"

"In my office," Eddie called out. He waited in his chair, staring at the script, as Helen sauntered into the study. She was only twenty-six years old, but her face already resembled a Botox fueled mask. Her long, blond hair was extensions, and the full breasts, revealed by the plunging neckline of her purple gown, were paid in full by Eddie.

"Darling," said Eddie, beaming. "You look ravishing."

"You were missed," says Helen. "Everyone asked about you. Did you get your work done?"

"Momentarily," said Eddie.

"I'm gonna get showered," said Helen, already walking out of the stud. "Do you want me in your bed tonight?"

"That won't be necessary," said Eddie, frowning at the back of Helen's head as she exited the office.

"Then…see you in the morning?" she asked, hand still on the doorframe.

Eddie sighed, staring down at his day planner. The trip to London for the premier of his last abominable movie was upcoming. I would be easier to arrive with Helen. Much easier to answer rumors about whether they were engaged, or pregnant, than to address the poor critical scores of the film.

Then, it was decided. Helen would stick around, at least through the trip.

* * *

 _Buzz. Buzz._

It was still dark outside the many windows of the master bedroom. Eddie's cell phone continued to vibrate, moving around on the night stand. He sighed as he grabbed for the phone and slammed accept.

"You woke me up."

"I'm sure I did, because you were up all night reading the script, right?"

"I read it," said Eddie, standing up out of bed. He reached for the script, sitting on the night stand. He still wore his comfortable silk pajama pants and a worn, cotton shirt.

"And you love it," said Jeremy. "Admit it. Best script that's come through in years."

Eddie gave a begrudged sigh. 'It was good."

"I think you just mispronounced ' _great_.' So, when can I get you, and that ass of an agent, down here to sign up some paperwork?"

"Never," said Eddie. He walked down the hall, into his study, and picked up the script. "It's brilliant. A true pearl of a screenplay. But I can't see myself acting this part. It's not for me. I don't know why you thought of me, honestly."

"This is big for the studio," said Jeremy. "The board usually isn't interested in showing these alternative lifestyle type of stories, but this one caught their eye. If I could attach a good name to it, I know it would get greenlighted."

"You said yourself, at length, that my name isn't the draw it was in the past," said Eddie.

"Well, call me sentiment, but I believe in you," and this is the kinda turnabout audiences adore. The washed up actor, re-imagined in a gritty role, and I'm sorry, how could I not think of you for the role? You're perfect."

"I disagree," said Eddie. He took the script with him as he stood up and walked into his bathroom. "I'm confident in my acting abilities, but there are so many sex scenes. Me acting out a sex scene with a man?"

"We'll use body doubles for the dirtiest parts," said Jeremy.

"Still, I would be kissing a man," said Eddie.

"We'll tentatively say _yes_ , but if it's a problem, we can invent ways to work around it."

"I'm sorry, I'm still not sure…"

"That's why I'm calling," said Jeremy. "David's on his way over. Get dressed. I need you to meet the other actor I have in mind. If you could see him, I think you'd understand my vision for this piece. I already know the perfect director, and with you, and this guy…it can't lose."

"I'm sorry, I have plans today…"

"Liar," said Jeremy, "I already had your property manager check your day planner, and I gave David orders to kidnap you if you refuse."

"I'd like to see him try…"

"If you don't come, I'm going to use the remainder of your contract to put you in as many zany comedies as possible. You'll be voicing cartoon dogs, and taking pies in the face, for a year Ed…"

"I'll be outside."

* * *

Eddie was confused when David drove the limousine outside of Hollywood. The buildings were rundown, with a liquor store on every corner. Eddie frowned when the car pulled into an office park with pink brick facades and empty flower beds out front. The plaque beside the door read: _NaughteeBoy Productions_.

"You can keep driving, David, there must be some mistake," said Eddie, moments before the limousine door opened.

"Ed! Glad you could make it," said Jeremy. He reached in, and grabbed Eddie's shoulder, before tugging. "Come on, we're late."

"This doesn't look like any studio I would normally visit," said Eddie, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice.

"It's not, unless you have some sordid past you managed to hide from the tabloids. I find that difficult to believe, consider you've lived your entire life in the public eye."

Eddie grumbled but kept quiet. Jeremy led the way, pulling open the door, and holding it open.

Inside, the waiting room was barren. There were a handful of plastic chairs along the wall, and a plastic plant in the corner that somehow managed to look dead. Behind a plywood desk, a receptionist sat, staring at a laptop.

"Hey! You're Jeremy again, right?" asked the skin was a mess of fake tanner, more orange than brown, and her hair was an unnatural shade of red. She wore an oversized college sweatshirt and gray leggings. "And y-you…you're…"

Eddie gave a polite smile.

"Oh my GAWD, you GUYS! Eddie GLUSKIN?! Are you KIDDING ME?!" the girl squeaked and grabbed around on the desk. She picked up the first stray paper she could find. "You gotta sign something for me! Can you sign something! My name is Tessa! Can you write, 'To My Darling, Tessa,' Oh man, my friends are gonna flip their shit…"

"We're in a bit of a hurry, can he sign something on the way out?" asked Jeremy.

"Oh, uh, sure," said Tessa, looking flustered. "I think they're just finishing up now. At least, the light isn't on." She pointed toward a red light on the outside of the door. It wasn't illuminated.

"Thanks," said Jeremy, walking to the door and pushing inside.

The room inside was a more familiar scene for Eddie. A mess of cameras, lighting equipment, and bearded crew members. In the back of the room, a well-lit set depicted a locker room scene, complete with lockers, bins of dirty clothing, and wooden benches. Eddie could hear voices coming from the back.

"Oh, wow, man, Eddie, nice to see you again," said an approaching man with long, straggly brown hair and a matching beard. There were tattoos visible beyond the sleeves of his band t-shirt, and sweatpants completed the look. Eddie looked at Jeremy, instead.

"Frank," said Jeremy, jerking his chin toward the newcomer. "Frank Manera? You remember him?"

Eddie gave a flat stare.

"You guys worked together," said Jeremy.

"Yeah, man, I got my start on the set of _Devil's Holiday_ ," said Frank, smiling. Eddie's brow creased, and he shrugged. "Oh, I worked on _Green Mansions_ , and then again on _Executioner II: Beheaded_."

"I apologize, I'm terrible with names," said Eddie, extending his hand. Frank's grip was enthusiastic as he returned the handshake.

"Gah, man, well, it's good to see you again," said Frank. "We're on a break right now. You guys wanna talk with Benny Jetts, right?"

"Absolutely," said Jeremy, grinning. He attempted to peer around the recording equipment. "Was he just shooting?"

"Sure, working on a pivotal scene today," said Frank. "Hey Benny!" There was an answering call from the set. "Get decent, and run over here."

"Ayup," came the response. Within a moment, a short, blond man came jogging around the equipment. His body was toned and lithe, and completely on display save for a small white towel he was holding around his waist. His hair was a mess of blond curls that fell into his face. When his brown eyes landed on Eddie, he immediately began walking slower. "Eddie Gluskin…"

Eddie glanced at Jeremy. Then at Frank. Then back at the newest arrival. "Nice to meet you, Benny."

"This is Waylon Park," said Jeremy, giving a wide grin. "Benny Jett is his stage name."

Eddie had to pause for a moment, as several pieces clicked into place, simultaneously. NaughteeBoy Studios. The nudity. The stage name. _Oh, shit._

"My friends call me Way," said Waylon, grinning. Eddie noticed Waylon's wide smile, and dimples. His brown eyes were captivating, even when partially obscured by a blond fringe. "I didn't believe Frank when he said you were considering the movie. Me, in a movie with Eddie Gluskin, I was like, fuck you, no way, but you're _here_ , I still can't believe it, someone pinch me…"

"I'd rather not touch you at all," said Eddie, frowning. "You look sticky."

"Fair enough," said Waylon, smirking. "It's just body oil. Don't get the wrong idea!"

"I don't understand," said Eddie, turning to address Jeremy. "You're considering this person for some part in the movie?"

"Who better to act the part of a pornstar turned mainstream actor than an actual pornstar, acting in his first mainstream production?" asked Jeremy. "It's brilliant. The marketing writes itself."

"He has no acting experience," said Eddie, glaring.

"Sure he does, man," said Frank. "He doesn't do the old gonzo porn anymore, Benny only puts his name on the more upscale productions, those with a storyline, and a script."

"Porn with a script?" asked Eddie.

"Sure, he was great in _The Incredible Hunk_ , and _Put It In Me, Coach_ ," said Frank. "He's a real professional—the best I've ever worked with."

Eddie turned a death glare on Jeremy.

"I saw his work in _Two Boys One Hole_ , and I can promise you, he's got what it takes," said Jeremy. "Scripted porn is much classier than say, releasing a sex tape."

Eddie's glare darkened as he leaned in closer, hissing near Jeremy's ear. "You know I had nothing to do with that…and I was under the impression I was being considered for the lead."

Jeremy laughed so loud he had to stop himself, cover his mouth, and turn away. It took several moments before he turned around. "There are two male leads, but, Jesus Christ, Ed, you're almost forty years old, no one's considering you for the part of a young pornstar. Holy shit. You're hilarious."

"I'd pay to see a movie with you as a pornstar," said Waylon, grinning. He stood as comfortably in a towel as most men do in a full designer suit. There was a definite charisma about the boy—something special. Could it translate to the big screen?

"Listen," said Waylon, stepping closer to Eddie—addressing only him, "I've been trying to get real acting jobs for a year now. Done some theater stuff. A couple late night commercials. This is my big break. I would act the _shit_ out of this role."

Eddie frowned. "This script is exemplary," he said. "It could mean a lot to my career. Do you have any idea how much of a risk it would be to put my name next to someone who's not only untested but a…an adult film star?"

"Real life imitates art," said Waylon, laughing. "You're right, what can I say or do to convince you to give this ambitious porn actor a chance to go mainstream?"

Eddie paused, frowning as he looked around the small circle. Frank's bearded face held childlike hope. Jeremy's was cold and calculating. Waylon's dimpled smile never faltered. He stared at Eddie as though a figure of legend had just walked out of a painting and started speaking.

"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me," said Eddie, pulling back his shoulders. "Unfortunately, I won't be able to accept the project. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Eddie turned and walked out of the room. He heard Jeremy making apologies behind him, but Eddie didn't slow. He walked out the door, toward the limousine, and only paused when Jeremy grabbed his arm.

"Hey, you know what this could mean to your career?" asked Jeremy. "He's the perfect guy, just look at him!"

"Did you even read the script, Jer? You want me to play the part of the agent, the older man who discovers the lead character, and then begins a relationship with him? A relationship where…"

"Don't you think you're being a little homophobic? I told you, we can work on the kisses, and sex scenes, if that's really such a huge deal…"

"The agent is the _receiver_ in the bedroom," hissed Eddie. "He's the bottom. The one taking it. I'm not sure I could…I don't think…after…"

"Hey, hey," said Jeremy, grabbing both of Eddie's shoulders, and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Look at me, alright? I _knew_ that when I offered you the part. Everyone in the world knows about that, okay? But, if you're the actor I think you are, you can overcome, channel those memories, and bring this part to life in ways no one else could."

"Absolutely not," said Eddie. He pushed Jeremy away with a firm arm, before stepping into the limousine and settling into the backseat.

Jeremy Blaire had lost his fucking mind.

"Take me home, David."

* * *

A/N: Updated Mondays Weekly Thanks for reading


	2. Chapter 2: Convincing

**Chapter 2: Convincing**

Eddie spent a leisurely morning in his Bel Air home, avoiding phone calls. Helen and her entourage departed early that morning for a day of spinning, beauty treatments, and shopping. Eddie wouldn't miss all the fuss once their relationship dissolved. He put on a white tank and comfy pants before wandering down to his seizable home gym.

Sweating was a sure way to clear Eddie's mind, and he needed it cleared. Razed. Devoid of all thought.

Sleep proved elusive the night before, thanks to _Mainstream_. The script was solid. And Jeremy had a point about the kid. His look was perfect, and he could bring an authenticity to the role even seasoned actors would struggle to portray. As long as he could half way splutter out his lines, Eddie could manage the emotional heavy lifting of the performance. He could give the amateur a strong enough support that it would be difficult to fail. And the novelty of having a pornstar act out a role about a pornstar? Well, sometimes Jer had good points. The marketing would write itself.

Still. Eddie had been uneasy enough when he considered playing a pornstar turned actor. The idea of playing the sleazy agent who discovered the pornstar in a filthy strip club was too much.

Eddie sweated away the morning and well into the afternoon, before a chime sounded through the house. Mrs. Shields, his matronly property manager, found him in the gym walking on a treadmill.

"Mr. Gluskin?" asked Mrs. Shields, adjusting the broach on her yellow cardigan. "There's someone here to visit you. He claims to be an actor working with you on your next film."

"What the hell," said Eddie, stopping the machine, and stalking down the hall to the foyer. He didn't bother toweling off or changing from his workout clothes, hair sweaty and disheveled.

"Eddie," said Waylon, his voice thick with something akin to reverence. "Gah, were you just…you're so sweaty…"

"How did you get this address? Why did security let you through?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, Jeremy sent a limo, and it drove me here," said Waylon, smiling. He wore a tight red shirt with a v-neck, and dark jeans. A skinny white laptop was tucked under his arm. "Your house is dope."

"Dope?" asked Eddie.

"I _loooooooove_ this place," said Waylon, walking further into the house, without being invited. He looked around, a huge grin plastered on his face. Past the formal entrance area was a large living room with tall windows and a view of the backyard. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"No," said Eddie.

"Oh, well, still great taste, whoever did it," said Waylon. "Hoe-lee-shit, is that an _infinity pool_?"

Eddie followed, his face practically twisted in confusion.

"Dude, so cool, I've never swam in a pool that nice, I bet you feel guilty when you pee in it," said Waylon, turning to grin at Eddie. The deep frown on Eddie's face caused Waylon to stutter and continue, "and, uh, I mean, not that I would ever..." Waylon inserted a long bout of obviously fake laughter, "...ever, do that. I mean. The ocean, maybe, but..."

"Remind me to never swim with you."

"Don't get the wrong idea, here," said Waylon, adjusting the grip on his computer as he used his other hand to gesture at himself, "I don't do water sports. I'm not _that_ kinda pornstar."

Eddie crossed his arms across his chest.

"Anymore."

Eddie cocked an eyebrow.

"Just that, like, one time. Two."

Eddie sighs and shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the ground.

"I needed the cash," said Waylon.

"Has anyone told you that you have a problem with oversharing?" Eddie, rubbing his palm across his sweaty face. "Work on it, or this industry will eat you alive."

"Fuck me sideways, day one, and already getting acting advice from Eddie Gluskin!" Waylon practically vibrated with happiness. "You have a place I can plug this in?"

"Why the hell would I want you to do that?" asked Eddie.

Waylon paused, turning back to stare at Eddie. Brown eyes managed to look innocent, and confused. "Jeremy said you weren't convinced, so I asked him if I could get a chance to try to convince you."

"Convince me to act in the movie with you, you mean?" asked Eddie.

"Duh?"

Eddie followed Waylon around the living room decorated with lavender colored couches, and cream accent pillows. Waylon sat on one of the couches, and patted the cushion next to himself.

"I'm filthy, I just got finished working out," said Eddie, frowning.

"Oh, don't worry about that, I get sweated on, like, all the time!" said Waylon.

"I was worried about the couches—not you."

"Just sit down," said Waylon, opening the laptop. He began to tap and swipe on the touchpad, navigating through menus. Eddie stared over Waylon's shoulder, frowning.

"Sorry, it's a Mac, are you a PC guy?" asked Waylon.

"I have one computer upstairs," said Eddie. "I believe it is a Dill."

"Wow," said Waylon, laughing as he clicked away at the computer. "Gives a new meaning to getting on the computer and telling everyone you're playing with your pickle."

Eddie thought he understood the joke, but either way, it wasn't funny. He exhaled loudly.

"Okay, so, here, I came by to show you some of my work," said Waylon, putting on a serious expression. "I get it, porn actor, surely he can't carry such a complicated script, and deliver a nuanced performance, but, well, let my acting speak for itself." Waylon tilted the computer and clicked.

A video began playing on the laptop. The first surprise was that the actors were fully clothed. The film quality was poor, the sound lacking, and the camera angles abysmal. But the acting?

"It would be easy to suspend you," said an older woman with sleek, black hair and light brown eyes. The suit she wore was meant to imitate something academic, but the skirt was far too short, and the shirt buttons threatened to tear open at any moment. The red bra was clearly visible beneath the thin, white fabric and the gaps between buttons.

"I know that, Dean Powers, but my scholarship…" Waylon on the screen wore a skintight t-shirt with 'COLLEGE' across the front, and thick, black frames with no lenses. His blond hair was shorter, the curls sticking up in unruly clumps.

Dean Powers _tsked_ lightly, walking from behind her desk to stand over Waylon. She towered above him in sky-high heels. "Yes, that would be a shame…"

"You don't understand," said Waylon, on the screen. The camera was close up on his face as his lip quivered. "My parents can't afford for me to go here, if I lose my scholarship, I won't be able to go to college at all…"

"Then, what can we do to make sure that doesn't happen, _hmm_?" Dean Powers delivered the lines as though reading them from a cue card, stilted and robotic. It contrasted starkly with Waylon's dialogue which sounded natural. Real.

"I…I'll do whatever it takes," says Waylon, closing his eyes and letting out a stuttering breath. "Please, don't suspend me. I didn't do it, I was set up."

"I know you were," said Dean Powers, smirking as she used one manicured finger to lift Waylon's chin. She smiled as he looked on the verge of tears. "Who do you organized it in the first place?"

The camera caught the moment when Waylon closed his eyes, and wet, sloppy tears dripped down his pink cheeks.

"Oh, none of that, Peter," said Dean Powers. "I'm going to need you to follow very careful instructions, now. And the first one is…" Dean Powers whispered the next part directly against the shell of Waylon's ear while the camera caught his reaction, "…act like you like it."

Waylon choked on a sob before opening wet eyes and staring at the older woman. He forced a smile that tugged at Eddie's heartstrings. The camera panned out, and the woman began unbuttoning her shirt, when Waylon stopped the video.

Eddie _hmmed_ to himself. "I had assumed you would be acting in gay porn, due to the movie's subject matter, I didn't realized you liked women," said Eddie, staring at the paused scene of Waylon on the screen.

"Oh, not really," said Waylon. "I'm as gay as it gets, always had a thing for boys."

"But…"

"That's acting," said Waylon, clicking away from the video before it became x-rated. "I'm not a soccer player, either, but here's a video of me about to blow my coach…"

The video that Waylon brought up has Waylon in a lime green soccer uniform with the number '69' emblazoned on the back. The coach grabbed his shoulders, shook him roughly, and Waylon looked up with anger burning in his eyes.

"I'm married, Scott," said the much taller, much more muscular man wearing a blue track suit.

"So what? I don't care what they say, I want to be with the person I want most," said Waylon on the screen, fisting the other man's track suit, "I only wanna be with you."

The acting wasn't horrible, despite the terrible production value. And the content. Waylon stopped the video right as the coach and the player attacked one another with open mouths.

"This is all, not _terrible_ , considering the source," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "I haven't watched pornography in a long time. I hadn't realized there was so much…story involved."

"More and more people are looking for that story to help get them off, not that there isn't still plenty of the tried-and-true, not to mention all the amateur stuff flooding the market, oh, but as for just straight up sex scenes, nothing I've seen comes _close_ to your tape, though, man…"

"I hate talking about that," said Eddie, frowning. Waylon stopped immediately, his face blushing bright red. "It's alright-and your acting, it definitely shows promise."

"Holy shit," said Waylon, laughing. "Eddie Gluskin just complimented my acting! I think I can die happy, now!"

Eddie gave a strange, side-eye stare.

"I should probably fess up…I am just, a _huge_ fan. A huge fan of _you_ , I mean. I grew up watching reruns of _A Family of Our Own_ , and then, just, all the _Executioner_ movies, damn, you were so cool! The fucking _Groom_ , dude, I think I watched _Outlast_ a thousand times. Totally had like, a million posters of you in my bedroom in high school!"

"I feel very old now," said Eddie, muttering to himself.

"Oh, no, don't worry, I'm very into older men," said Waylon. Eddie's eyebrows show up as Waylon's eyes raked up and down his frame.

"That's hardly appropriate," said Eddie, standing up from the couch.

"If that's inappropriate, then it's probably best that I only admitted to having the posters, and didn't admit to masturbating furiously to them," said Waylon, laughing until he caught Eddie's decidedly nasty glare. "Errr…"

"The oversharing, again," said Eddie, sighing.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Waylon, giving a laugh that was more nerves than amusement. "I hear it from people so much I guess I forget it's actually not a normal thing to hear or say. Wow, I made it weird, right? Hey, if you're still not convinced, I could show you my commercial work? It played on national television, but only late at night."

"It's really not necessary," said Eddie, but Waylon ignored him. He hummed as he clicked around on the computer, bringing up YouTube.

After a short search, Waylon clicked on a video and began clicking to random starting points. It was impossible to tell what exactly was playing with the way Waylon skipped through the commercial. "Ah, okay, here I am," said Waylon, pressing play and angling the screen back toward Eddie.

The video stalled for a moment, buffering, while an image of Waylon in a pink collared shirt and white shorts holding a tennis racket sat frozen on the screen. There was a white headband disrupting his golden curls and he smiled with dimples showing. The video lurched to life and Waylon walked toward the camera.

"Talk to your doctor about Flo-rite," said Waylon, back on the screen smiling as he pulled out a package from his shorts' pocket and held it out toward the camera, "and don't let your opioid-induced constipation put a _cramp_ in your plans."

Eddie watched in horror as the commercial continued to show Waylon jumping and hitting tennis balls while the narrator continues to list off possible side-effects.

 _Stop use and consult your doctor immediately if you experience any of the following known side effects: incontinence, violent gas, excessive rectal bleeding, memory loss, cardiac arrest, mild death..._

Eddie's hand moved before he realized what he was doing and gently closed the laptop, effectively ending the video.

"Awesome, right?" asked Waylon, beaming so bright it was almost infectious.

"Waylon," said Eddie, turning to face him on the couch, "I'm...I'm so sorry."

"I did another for _Hemorrhoid-Ex_ , I can try to find it.."

"Pardon, but, who is your agent?" asked Eddie, shaking his head.

"I don't really have one, Frank helps me out, he's a nice guy, got plenty of connections around the biz, always talks about you guys cutting up on the set and stuff," said Waylon, chuckling to himself.

"Waylon, I appreciate you taking the time to do this, but I'm afraid I really cannot act in this production. It's nothing reflected on your acting ability, I just don't feel like I could embody this role.

"When I read the work, I identified more with Randall—not because of his profession, but because he has to fight so hard, against so much debauchery and villainy in the industry. That's my experience, as well-it spoke to me. But, from a practical standpoint, I realize a younger actor with your background perfectly brings the character to life for an audience. And I have no desire to play support in this film."

"It's not playing support, there are two male leads…" said Waylon.

"I'm sorry," said Eddie, shrugging with an 'aw shucks' grin.

"Is it because of the sex scenes?" asked Waylon.

"Wha…no, that's not it," said Eddie. He stood up and walked toward the kitchen off the foyer, unsurprised when Waylon followed him, carrying the laptop. "I've done plenty of sex scenes in my career. I went full nude in a feature film, once."

"Yes, _The Summer of Stars_ , at one hour three minutes…"

Eddie paused and turned around to level a flat stare.

"Shit, I made it weird again? I'm sorry, I guess I get a little nervous when you're around."

"Then you should be relieved to know I won't be there."

"That's not it, this role is a dream come true, but acting with you, well, that would make it, damn, is there anything better than a dream come true? I would do literally anything to get to work with you. If it's because you don't think I'm a good enough actor then, help me! Teach me!"

"You're a fine actor, I'm sure," said Eddie, pausing to lean back against one of the kitchen counters.

"Then, what, the kissing? You can't kiss another man? Your rigid heterosexuality doesn't allow that?" asked Waylon, setting his computer down on the kitchen island in order to meet Eddie's stare with his shoulders back.

"That's not the reason," said Eddie.

"I mean, I know it wouldn't be the first time you ever…kissed a man, is that why you don't want to, you can't do it anymore because of…"

"That is not the reason," hissed Eddie. "I'm a professional, I can act any scene put before me, as long as the character I'm representing would kiss a man, then I would carry out the scene."

"You sure?" asked Waylon, smirking. "I mean, have tons of experience kissing people I don't' want to kiss, but some people can't turn it on and off that easily I suppose, like...

Eddie craned his neck down and planted a firm kiss on Waylon's lips. If nothing else, it was satisfying to kiss the obnoxious smirk from his face. Eddie pulled away, glaring. "I'm a professional, Waylon, I can do whatever's required for a role."

"So you _can_ kiss a man, just can't make it convincing at all…"

Eddie growled as he grabbed Waylon's hips, and pulled him into another kiss. He pulled until Waylon was flush against him, and continued to move his lips. He didn't shy away when Waylon's tongue peeked out. Eddie forced his way into Waylon's mouth, stepping forward until Waylon was pinned, painfully, between Eddie's hips and the kitchen counter.

Once Eddie was sure he had proved his point, he released Waylon and took a step back. Waylon whined softly, bringing his fingertips up to trace his kiss-bitten lips. He stared up at Eddie with lidded brown eyes.

"Wow," breathed Waylon. "You really are a great actor." Eddie rolled his eyes and sighed.

A chime rang out through the house, followed by a mild din coming from the foyer.

"Eddie-baby!"

"In the kitchen," said Eddie, raising his voice enough to be heard. Helen walked into the room, heels clacking on the tile. A tall, skinny man in a green halter top and skintight jeans followed her, along with a girl wearing a button down white shirt and dress slacks.

"Well, hello! Who's your friend," asked Helen as she walked over, and gave Eddie a kiss on the cheek. She extended a manicured hand toward Waylon. "I'm…"

"Helen Granat, I know, you were amazing in _Homes versus Holmes_ , and I saw you sing in _The_ _Phantom of the Opera_ a couple years ago! You've got some pipes!"

"Wow, I like this guy already," said Helen, grinning at Eddie.

"Helen, this is Waylon Park, he's the actor chosen for the next movie Jeremy wanted me to consider," said Eddie.

"That script you just read? I thought you _loved_ it! Are you not doing it now?" asked Helen.

"He will if I can help it," said Waylon, grinning.

"Eddie-baby, you stink, go take a shower, we have dinner in an hour, that new restaurant that opened up, some reality celebrity chef or another, we have reservations," said Helen.

"I don't remember reservations…"

"It's been on the house schedule for the entire week, you already canceled on me once this week, and you _promised…_ " said Helen, before fluttering her lashes at Waylon. "One of my girl friends canceled, last minute. You wanna tag along?"

"Are...are you serious?" asked Waylon.

Helen's answer was a big, obvious wink. "You bet! Pierce, go get Waylon a drink while he waits. I'll be down shortly. Eddie-baby, shower." Helen pointed toward the stairs.

Eddie grumbled as he walked away, up the stairs, Helen in tow. Some time later, Helen emerged wearing a metallic gold dress, blond hair pinned on top of her hair in a cascade of sloppy curls. Her heels were so high she soared over Waylon despite them previously being the same height. She still managed to walk as graceful as a dancer.

"Car's waiting?" asked Helen. Pierce, the man from her entourage, nodded. Waylon stood in his same clothes, feeling under-dressed. Especially when Eddie walked in, wearing a blue vest and dress pants over a powder blue shirt.

"Should I, uh, change?" asked Waylon, pulling at his red T-shirt over jeans.

"Absolutely not, you look _fab_ ," said Helen, beaming as she pulled Waylon toward the front doors. "Let's go!"

* * *

Waylon had been to fancy restaurants—but nothing like _Burns_. There was a line around the building, waiting for reservations. The front was black marble and windows of glass designed to obscure the view inside. The actual restaurant was on the top floor-they took an express elevator with an actual attendant working the elevator's buttons.

Actors and actresses from hit movies and television shows milled around the bar area as they walked through to their reserved table. Waylon sat, star-struck, despite the best attempts of Helen's friends. Lucy, the female companion, offered a running commentary on everyone's outfits, and Pierce chattered about a recent party for Flirty Girl Athletics. Waylon felt terribly out of place.

It wasn't that Waylon couldn't blend in with any group of people-being able to think quick on his feet was necessary for his work. He was just afraid of making an even worse impression. _Oversharing_ , as Eddie had said.

The food was gourmet; the table settings perfectly aligned. The entrees and desserts were modern art. Waylon thought about the last few parties he had attended for the porn industry. They had their own charm, and much less clothing, but _nothing_ compared to this apparently casual dinner amongst friends.

"They're playing dance music on the patio," said Helen, fluttering her false lashes at Eddie. "Come dance with me?"

"You know I don't dance," said Eddie.

"Lucy? Waylon?"

"Sure, I'll dance," said Waylon, jumping to his feet and extending a hand to Helen. She clapped happily and followed Waylon out onto the patio.

The restaurant was situated at the top of a ten-story building, and the patio opened to the roof. There were considerably fewer people on the patio. A deejay played house music, and the line at the bar was much shorter. Waylon began to feel more at home, away from so many eyes.

Helen enjoyed dancing, moving gracefully even in her frightening heels. Waylon danced with Helen, surrounded by people in designer clothes with white rings around their nostrils.

"This is fun," said Waylon.

"Yeah," said Helen, breathing heavy. "I need another drink. Get me a vodka cranberry?"

Even though Waylon was unsure whether Helen actually did need any more alcohol, he ran to the bar and ordered the drink. For a moment, he forgot that he would have to pay for said drink. He forced a relaxed smile as he slid his debit card to the bartender, and prayed it wasn't rejected.

"One vodka cranberry," said Waylon, once he found Helen, leaning against the railing along the edge of the patio. She stared off across the city, lit up in the darkness. So many twinkling lights amidst a sea of concrete and traffic.

"Thanks," said Helen. "Eddie never dances, and my friends are too cool for it, so I guess I'm out of practice. Or maybe I've had a few too many drinks."

"So, what's it like?" asked Waylon, grinning as he rubbed his hands together. It was chilly on the roof with the night wind picking up.

"What is _what_ like?" asked Helen.

"What's it like, dating Eddie Gluskin? Knowing that, like, every woman in America is jealous of you?"

Helen laughed and took a sip from the tiny straw in her pink drink. "I don't know."

"You two seem really comfortable with one another," said Waylon, grinning. "What's he like, outside of work?"

Helen stared down at the ground below. She paused with the cup to her lips for several seconds without taking a drink. "Cold," she said, at last.

"Cold?"

Helen nodded.

"Oh, sorry, I don't know the protocol about asking about people, I wasn't trying to be a gossip or like, bring up touchy subjects, I just…"

"No, you'll see if you work with him," said Helen, sighing. "He shows so much passion when he's acting, but once the cameras stop, he's a very quiet person. He doesn't really open up. Well, not to me."

Helen took a long sip and stared at Waylon for several moments before giggling. "Sorry, not trying to drag down the evening with boring conversation."

"No," said Waylon, gripping tight to the railing. "Not at all. I'm sure lots of actors are different, in real life, compared to how they seem on screen."

She turned her head, looking around, before leaning her head closer to Waylon's.

"When we were acting on _Shallow Tides_ , I was really attracted to him. The way he would act, and deliver his lines, and kiss me. I fell for him— _hard_. But, off set, he was so serious."

"But you're still with him, and you seem very happy, so it can't be all bad?" asked Waylon, frowning.

"Oh, definitely, not all bad, but most of that is because of the contract," said Helen.

"Which contract?" asked Waylon.

"Eek, sorry," said Helen, swirling her ice around with her finger. " _Way_ too much to drink." Helen giggled into her tiny straw. "Forget I said anything."

Waylon shrugged. "No prob." Since he wasn't even sure exactly what she'd said in the first place.

"I'm between projects right now, attending tons of auditions, so, Eddie pays for everything, he takes me on trips, next week we're going to London. I've never been!"

"Me either," said Waylon. "Sounds like a jolly good time."

"Please, never say something that cringey again," said Helen, grinning. "I'm sure we'll go to an opening, attend an A-List party, stay at a fancy hotel, and watch a play. The world just, opens doors for him. But Eddie? I don't even know if he _likes_ those things. I feel bad for him. I wish I could help."

"I'm sure you help, by being there and supporting him," said Waylon, smiling.

"You think?" asked Helen, raising an eyebrow. "I really don't know what our future holds."

"Would I be a total creep if I asked about the sex?" asked Waylon.

Helen's eyes went wide as she sipped on her straw. "That's forward!"

"Sorry, bad habit," said Waylon, laughing. "Forget where I am, sometimes. It's not really a big deal to talk about sex at my day job."

"Wait, you're an actor, I thought? What day job?"

"I'm an actor, yeah, but mostly in uh, porn," said Waylon, giving a smug grin.

Helen took a long sip from her glass, despite it being mostly melted ice. She turned piercing green eyes on Waylon. She reached into the tiny clutch purse dangling from her wrist and pulled out her phone. "You pull it up right now, or I'm calling bullshit."

"Simple," said Waylon, laughing. He accepted the phone, typed in a porn tube web address, and typed into the search bar: "Benny Jetts." Waylon squinted at the results and clicked on the fourth result. A classic— _Twink cocksucker Benny Jetts takes it deep_. Plenty of closeups of his face. Easy to recognize. He smirked as he started the video, and tilted the screen toward Helen. She watched with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open.

"You totally weren't lying…" Helen shakes her head, grinning. "Wait, so Eddie's new project, he's supposed to be working with a pornstar? A _gay_ pornstar?"

"I star in some gay porn scenes, but you know, there's a portion of the talent in this industry that is just gay-for-pay, you know…"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't trying to assume anything…"

"I'm fucking with you, I'm totally gay," said Waylon.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," said Helen, giggling into her cup while watching the porn, "but, you were eye fucking Eddie pretty hard at the table, so I had some suspicions…"

Helen and Waylon looked up and down one another for a moment before erupting into giggles.

"More drinks?" asked Helen, sliding her arm around Waylon's waist. "I think we need them." The arm that wasn't around Waylon held the phone up where Waylon continued to slurp on a giant cock. "Holy damn how do you take it that deep? This is some kinda camera angles or editing magic right?"

"That's all me, and my lack of a gag reflex…"

Two drinks and a half dozen or so videos later, Eddie found Helen and Waylon laughing at the patio bar. Helen had removed her heels, and they dangled from two of Waylon's fingers.

"Helen, darling, it's time to leave," said Eddie.

"Come on, Helly," said Waylon, her shoes in one hand, and the other around her waist. "Time to go home, before you pass out."

Eddie's face was stern and decidedly unamused. Waylon gave a nervous grin as he led Helen down the stairs, through the crowded restaurant, and out the front door.

A uniformed chauffeur held open the door for Helen. As soon as she was settled, the door slammed shut before Waylon could step inside.

"Uh," said Waylon. He glanced to the left where Eddie was talking to a different uniformed driver. Eddie met Waylon's eye and gestured with a hand for him to come closer.

"Waylon, I've paid this car to take you wherever you wish to go," said Eddie, his face tired and bored. "I apologize, but Helen tends to vomit in these situations, and I don't want to risk driving you home first. I trust this driver, the company employees my own regular diver, David, who I trust with my life. You're perfectly safe."

"Ah, okay, thanks, I guess just, kinda bummed the night is really over, huh?"

Eddie raised an eyebrow at Waylon, instead of answering.

"I really hope you'll reconsider, and take the part," said Waylon, his tone just short of pleading. "I'd do anything in my power to make it the most expressive film you've ever made. Promise."

Eddie looked away but turned back when Waylon pulled on the sleeve of his jacket.

"I was hoping, when I came to your house today, that I could convince you about my skills, but instead I got drunk with you girlfriend, so I'm sorry about that. But I do mean it. Together, we could make this film.."

Eddie's blue gaze pierced Waylon. Under that stare, he felt open-vulnerable. Weighed and measured. And found lacking. Waylon understood, then. Eddie would never act in a movie with someone like him.

Waylon chuckled, nervously and pointed toward the car. "Well, I'm gonna go now, thanks for the great evening, then…"

Eddie turned without a word and got into his own car, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Loud, drunken snores filled the cab of the hired car. Eddie sighed, staring out the window, choosing to watch the streetlights pass rather than glance at Helen's sleeping face squished against the window.

Vibrations from his pocket indicated a phone call, but Eddie ignored it. Whoever it was calling him so late at night could call back later. And they did, after the first round of vibrations ended. During the third iteration, Eddie pulled out his phone and answered.

"What?" snarled Eddie.

"There you are," said Jeremy Blaire, on the other end of the line. A dark chuckle sounded over the line. "A little birdie told me that you ended up taking Waylon Park out to dinner tonight—intimate night on the town. I'm assuming this means you're taking the part?"

"It wasn't my idea to invite him," said Eddie, through clenched teeth. "And my answer is still _no_."

A long sigh from Jeremy had Eddie pulling the phone away and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Ed," said Jeremy. "I really wanted you to agree to this, on your own. I know you tend to put more effort into something if you're your idea versus my idea. You're always forcing me to be the big bad producer, coercing you into things. Why do I have to be the bad guy?"

"Because you are, in fact, a bad guy," said Eddie.

A sharp laugh. "Maybe, but it doesn't matter," said Jeremy, still chuckling to himself. "You have a contract, Ed. It's within the Studio's rights to insist that you make this movie, or we could talk to legal about ending your contract, and you know what happens if we are forced to play that card?"

Eddie stewed, glaring out the window of the car. Helen's steady snoring filled the silence.

"No answer? Well, I'll tell you, then," said Jeremy, clearing his throat. "Murkoff will terminate your contract, and put a black mark on your name so thick, you'll never work in this town ever again."

"After all I've done for you," snarled Eddie.

"Yeah? The box-office embarrassments, publicity flubs, all of your fucking demands on set and in the negotiating room-you're _exhausting_ , and the abysmal payout doesn't justify the steep cost of doing business with you.

"Now, you're lucky," continued Jeremy, "because this project I actually believe in. I'm not forcing you into some terrible turd of a movie, I'm offering you a fucking _gem_ , and you are going to shoot this movie, and you're going to make it great, or I'll make sure it's the last movie you ever turn down. So, what's my answer?"

Eddie hadn't realized the phone had fallen from his ear. He sat staring at the illuminated screen as the minutes ticked by and Jeremy's name sat prominently in the middle of the screen.

Twenty years ago, Eddie would have laughed in Jeremy's ear, ended the call, and thrown the phone out the moving car window. Another studio would pick him up. He was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood at the time, fresh off an Oscar nomination. Ten years ago, he would at least have argued his case. He was getting his second wind, leaving behind the _Executioner_ franchise and headlining the horror flick, _Outlast_ , which helped to relaunch his career.

But now?

Eddie sighed. "I guess we're making a movie."

"I knew you'd see reason," said Jeremy, all evidence of his earlier anger vanished. "I'm sending a car first thing in the morning, get you and your dickless agent in here to sign first thing. I'm already booking the studio time. We're making a movie, Eddie. Congratulations."

* * *

The light was still on in the window when Waylon pulled up to the one bedroom apartment located in a rundown apartment complex far outside of Hollywood. The driver refused to take any payment, though Waylon actually had no cash to offer in the first place.

"Was that a Lincoln Towncar?" asked Miles, as soon as Waylon pushed the door open, keys still in the lock.

"Uh, how would I know that?" asked Waylon, shrugging.

"Lemme guess—Jeremy again," said Miles.

"Nope," said Waylon, turning his nose up. "Eddie Gluskin."

"Lying trick," said Miles, scoffing.

"Slut's honor," said Waylon, walking into the ratty apartment. The futon was constantly in a state of being half unmade bed and half couch. Miles sat in his boxers at the dented table in what passed for a kitchenette, staring at his laptop. "Jeremy actually sent me over to Eddie's house."

"You got into Eddie Gluskin's house? Are you _shitting_ me? What was it like? He lives over in Bel Air, right? I've seen it from the road, always looks quiet-boring. Please, tell me there was some kinda crazy bondage dungeon, or drug paraphernalia strewn out across the couch?! Did you take pictures? Tell me you took a goddamn phone pic."

"No," said Waylon, eyebrows a straight line as he glared at Miles. "Invading someone's' privacy is what gets _you_ off-not me. And besides, Eddie's house was completely normal, and he was a nice guy."

"Booooring, no one wants to read that, what did you do then? Beg him to work on that movie Frank and Jeremy are obsessing over?"

"More or less," said Waylon, smirking to himself. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, unsurprised to find nothing but cheap beer and rotting take-out containers. "I showed him some of my work."

"You don't have any work, poptart," said Miles, typing furiously at his keys. His fingers slowly came to a halt as he turned his head to stare at Waylon. "You mean you were watching _porn_ with Eddie Gluskin today?"

"Ya," said Waylon, his smirk turning into something practically devilish. "I can hardly believe it's real. We watched some of my scenes before the dicks came out I mean, and then his girlfriend invited me out to dinner!"

"Where did you eat? Who was there? Did you see any A-listers, other than Eddie, if he even counts as A or B list anymore…"

"There were some, I guess, but I really didn't even look," said Waylon, laughing.

"Don't laugh, this isn't funny, you haven't coughed up anything for rent, and the best I can come up with is Emma Watson breaking a heel on Rodeo Drive. Please, Waylon, I'm hungry."

"Stop it, you have more in savings than I do," said Waylon, rolling his eyes. He grabbed one of the beers and cracked it open on the edge of the kitchen counter. "I don't think he's gonna take the part."

"You should have left the video rolling after the dicks came out, rookie mistake, I mean, that's where you really excel," said Miles.

"Shut up," said Waylon, taking a long swig. "I don't blame him, I mean, signing up to put his name on a film where he stars with someone like _me_. Jeremy and Frank were stupid to think there was even a snowball's chance in Sedona."

"Well, you gave it a good shot at least, right? I mean, you had to really work that Jeremy guy."

"Ya," said Waylon, taking an especially long swig of his beer. Didn't help to wash the bad taste out of his mouth that always accompanied thoughts of Jeremy Blaire.

"Frank was calling earlier, asking if you wanted to fill in for a shoot this weekend," said Miles.

"Guess I might as well since I don't have anything better going on," said Waylon. "Oh well. At least I got to kiss Eddie Gluskin."

"Whoa, wait, wha," Miles turned around so quickly in his chair he almost fell out of it and his laptop was knocked askew on the table. "KISSED?!"

"Ya," said Waylon, grinning. "I thought maybe he didn't want the part because he couldn't pretend to like kissing a man, but…he proved me wrong."

"Well played, cupcake," said Miles, a crooked grin on his face. "I wish I had a picture of that. God, what a story to break. That would pay our rent for a year—fuck that, we could rent a better place." Miles held up his fingers, framing an imaginary headline, " _Eddie Gluskin dating Gay Pornstar._ "

"I don't even get _named_ in this hypothetical headline?"

"No one knows who the fuck you are, your name isn't the shocking part," said Miles, wiggling his fingers. "Oh, you gotta get me something."

"I won't help you get dirt on Eddie, so stop already," said Waylon.

"What?!" Miles' hand flew up to his heart as he faked a hurt expression. "How can you say that to me, sugarcookie? The man who gives you shelter and food…"

"This place is a shithole, and there's nothing but beer in the fridge…"

"…the man who believed in you before even you did…"

"Jerking it to my webcam was believing in me? Hardly the start of an uplifting movie…"

"Don't we have something, though?" asked Miles, gesturing between the two of them with two fingers.

"You let me suck your dick instead of paying rent some months, that means we have something?"

"We're friends Waylon, Jesus," said Miles. He sighed as he sank back down into his chair and started typing, again. "I guess I'm going with the broken heel. See if I can't get some ignorant website to run the story. If I can write a few hundred words, and somehow insinuate that she broke it running from the law, I could probably snag fifty bucks for it."

"Dream big, Miles," said Waylon, shaking his head. The phone in his back pocket vibrated.

A text message.

 **Blaire** : The movie is a go.

* * *

rogue-puppies, thanks for being my first review! Haha meant to have 2 chapters up first time but ran out of time, so here's second part, updating weekly on Mondays :D


	3. Chapter 3: Action

Chapter 3: Action

David opened the door and held it while Eddie stepped out of the car. Murkoff Studios was much the same as other studios where Eddie had worked over his career. Despite his annoyance at Murkoff in general, the site of the lot always made him feel at ease. The vast black asphalt with lines of warehouses, the empty building facades, and all the spaces in between filled with props, trailers, and personnel.

Eddie made his way toward Studio H, knowing it would be one of the smallest. The movie wouldn't require gigantic sets, and much of the shooting would be done on location. The tiny warehouse would hold their world, for the short time they would film there.

The sharp crack of a car door made Eddie turn around, and he automatically wished he hadn't. Jeremy Blaire stood outside of his own chauffeured car. His black sunglasses, black suit, and black tie gave him an air of some secret service worker.

"Mornin' Ed," said Jeremy, walking up with a smirk.

"Can't imagine why _you_ would need to be here today, it's not like it's the first day of shooting," said Eddie, pausing to let Jeremy catch up before continuing toward Studio H.

"You're right, it's not the first day of shooting, but it's the first day you're on set," said Jeremy, slipping his shades off and into his suit pocket. "I'm here to introduce you to the director."

"He's already met with my agent, Andrew relayed all the pertinent information," said Eddie, swatting his hand as though he could bat away Jeremy's annoying concerns.

"Yeah, he thought that was rather rude, that you didn't wanna meet him before shooting."

"You were the one requiring me to travel to London for the abysmal premier of that terrible movie," said Eddie, growling. "The press tour was one embarrassment after another. They've already pulled the movie in the States."

"I saw the interview where you called Merky a "seventy thousand dollar CGI aberration," said Jeremy, glancing at Eddie out of the side of his eye.

"I stand by it," said Eddie, pushing onward.

"Ed, we rely on merchandise sales in a movie like that, and, all faults of the movie aside, Merky was the only one in that show selling any fucking products. The London Times actually ran an article about children burning their Merky dolls in protest of your statements."

"They already bought then, what do you care if they burn them?" asked Eddie.

"Do me a favor? Pretend to be in a better mood when we meet the director?" asked Jeremy. They paused outside of the warehouse door while Jeremy slid his identification across the card reader, and the lock automatically clicked.

"I'll make sure to smile pretty, and express how grateful I am to be working with him," said Eddie, rolling his eyes as he walked through the door.

"He probably won't like that," said Jeremy, the door shutting behind him. "He, uh, isn't your biggest fan."

"Lovely,' said Eddie, groaning. "Let me guess, he's still mad about the Executioner killing off MetalNeck in Executioner V: The Executioning?"

"No, he's actually unimpressed with your acting, as a whole, thinks it's unprofessional that you didn't want to participate in any of the rehearsals or read-throughs, and he was hoping to meet and discuss character motivations before you showed up on set."

Eddie laughed and the sound echoed off the walls of the long, narrow corridor through the side of the warehouse. "That's adorable. This isn't his first movie-his concerns are frivolous."

"He seems to think actors that value their craft are interested in things like that," said Jeremy, smirking at Eddie's annoyed sneer.

"Like he's done so much directing, this is his first studio film, and the other two weren't even released nationwide. Why should his opinion matter?"

"His films did well at the film festivals," said Jeremy, shrugging. They rounded a corner and several clothes racks squeezed the corridor down to a narrow walkway.

"Yes, Andrew told me, one of them was about a violent divorce, as told through the eyes of a three-year-old's stuffed elephant doll?"

"Artsy shit wins awards, Ed."

"There's artistic, and then there's pretentious hippie drivel, don't even try to pretend like you saw that movie."

"Oh, fuck no, I didn't see it, I have people that watch movies for me, though, and _they_ told me that this guy can direct, so here we are," said Jeremy, grinning. The door at the end of the hallway had a black label with 'Director' written across it in white block print. Jeremy knocked politely.

"C'min," shouted a voice from the other side.

Jeremy pushed the door open and smiled. "Guess who just showed up on set?"

"About fucking time," was the answer.

Eddie frowned as he stepped into the cluttered office and face to face with a tall man with a shaved head and thick eyebrows. He wore a black Slayer T-shirt over ripped jeans.

"Ed, this is Dennis Fuller, Dennis, you know Eddie," said Jeremy, reaching into his pocket to fish out a pack of cigarettes.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Eddie, smiling. "I apologize for my required presence at the London premiere, and I look forward to working with you, today."

"Nice of you to finally join us," said Dennis, crossing his arms over his chest. "I take it you won't be needing any more vacation time while we're trying to film a movie, right?"

"Jeremy should have already told you about the Asian leg of my premiere tour, coming up later this month," said Eddie, schooling his face to remain neutral.

"Goddammit, Jer," said Dennis, turning to glare at Jeremy.

Jeremy tapped the cigarette pack against his palm until two ends stood out, and extended the pack in a silent offer toward Dennis, then Eddie. Both shook their heads. Jeremy shrugged and pulled one out with his lips.

"I'm trying to run a business here, Dennis, what can I say," said Jeremy, the cigarette somehow magically staying on his lip as he spoke. "You never know what's going to shine in the Asian market."

"These dildos, already fucking me over," said Dennis, frowning as Jeremy brought out a silver Zippo and lit the cigarette, "it's bad enough they gave me such a fucking disaster of an actor."

"Now, I saw some of his work and, all things considered, he wasn't half bad," said Eddie, frowning. "He's just new, give him a chance."

"I was talking about you, dickhead," said Dennis, scoffing. "All the excitement I felt at getting offered a chance to direct a Murkoff production evaporated the moment they said I was working with _you_. You're a goddamn albatross around my fucking neck."

"How blunt," said Eddie, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I appreciate the candor."

"Ah, c'mon Dennis," said Jeremy taking a long drag and exhaling into the tiny room directly between the other two men. "I won't defend anything about Ed's personality, he's a stubborn ass, but he's workable. He'll get this film done right, and done on time. That's really all we need from an actor."

"Fine," said Dennis, dropping his arms to his side, and picking up a ragged folder from his desk. "Let's get over to rehearse before hair and makeup. I've still got some framing to do. Oh, and save all your diva requests for Jeremy's voice mail, 'cause I don't wanna hear 'em."

Eddie rushed out of the tiny office, already completely permeated with smoke thanks to Jeremy. He walked around the corner until he bumped into an assistant carrying a clipboard, and politely asked directions to the set.

The set was built to resemble a cramped office. A cheap desk covered with papers was front and center, with a dented computer tower and a bulky old monitor perched on top. The walls were bare and stained, and the single window opened to a view of a faux brick wall.

The area swarmed with activity. Assistants and gofers rushed around, costume and makeup artists lined the walls setting up their workspaces, lighting guys climbed ladders, boom operators wearing headsets and conducting tests, caterers setting up tables of food, and others seemed to be just lounging around, enjoying the chaos.

"EDDIE!"

Waylon waved from the other side of the set, partially obscured by cameras and lighting equipment. He stood on his toes, to better get Eddie's attention, beaming when he finally caught Eddie's eye.

Eddie hadn't seen Waylon since the night at Burn's, but he looked much the same. He jogged over to join Eddie near the catering table, filled with food trays and implements.

"Hey, Eddie," said Waylon, slightly out of breath when he arrived, cheeks bright pink and dimples winking. His blond hair seemed lighter and his curls unruly on one side as though he had slept in a strange position.

"Waylon, nice to see you again," said Eddie smiling. He looked up at down at the skinny jeans and oversized shirt that resembled a vintage sports logo but it clearly read that the team was the Dickriders. "You've already been to wardrobe?"

"What?" asked Waylon, tilting his head like a bird, "we don't usually go to wardrobe and makeup until after rehearsal."

Eddie bit his tongue to keep from snapping that he knew how to make a movie.

"And, how are you finding everything, so far? Filming is going well?" asked Eddie, smiling politely.

"It's fucking awesome," said Waylon, beaming. "Gah, man, Dennis is like, so cool, the crew is a bunch of awesome dudes, we've been grabbing some beers some nights, they're all just, amazing. I can't believe I'm here most days."

"You found it easy to adjust to filming here, rather than at…your last studio?"

"Oh, yeah, I mean, it's all the same shit, right?" asked Waylon, grinning. "Even in porn we gotta do the framing, multiple takes and versions, and the lighting, and the sound checks, and all that shit. Of course, these guys are all way more professional than what I'm used to working with. Here, almost no one's grabbed my ass, and there's a lot less lube involved."

"Ah," was the only response Eddie could manage, but Waylon's grin only grew wider. Almost no one?

"So stoked you're here, though, gonna be so much funner to do some scenes with you, and good to do some uplifting scenes, damn, it's been kinda dreary around here."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I haven't felt dreary at all," said Dennis, walking up to the set from behind Eddie. A group of crew members immediately walked up to greet him, and he held up a hand to halt them. "Hope you're ready for this, Eddie, I don't feel like holding your hand."

"Dennis is a huge fan of yours," said Waylon, grinning.

Eddie raised an eyebrow as he looked from Waylon to Dennis, and back to Waylon.

"I was a fan, emphasis on the was," said Dennis, crossing his arms over his chest. "During the height of his Executioner days? Sure, awesome. And everyone knows Outlast was badass. But I don't think anyone's been a real Eddie Gluskin fan since Executioner VII: Deader than Dead."

"Ah, that cinematic masterpiece I was contractually obligated to perform, where the titular character was brought back to life, for the third time, to take off yet another supervillain's head. Such a classic."

"I like the one where the Executioner beheaded Hitler," said Waylon, grinning.

"Was that four, or five?" asked Dennis, pursing his lips.

"Five," said Eddie, frowning. "In this business, some decisions are made out of passion and artistic expression-others are made to pay bills and satisfy contracts. I know the value of an actor's reputation, but I hope you will allow my abilities to speak for themselves, rather than focusing on past choices."

Waylon's pupils practically formed into hearts as he listened. Dennis exhaled before shrugging.

"Alright, Maria will walk you through the blocking, let's get started," said Dennis, walking away back toward the group of waiting crew members.

Eddie had already memorized the script. Waylon seemed to stumble at some points, but overall, he managed to make it through the rehearsal. Waylon patiently accepted Dennis' direction about tone, inflection, and body language with a smile and a nod.

An hour later, Dennis put two fingers into his mouth and whistled, calling the set to attention. "Okay, lighting, do your thing, Eddie and Way, wardrobe, get back out here as soon as possible, Eddie we're doing your solo shoots first."

* * *

Foundation. Blush. Contouring. Highlighting. Eyeshadow. Eyeliner. Mascara. Lipstick. Powder. Brushes. Hairspray. The dizzying array of products required to achieve a look that is "natural."

Nothing seen in the movies is natural.

The preparation was an important time—not just for the crew, but for Eddie. Part of the ritual; part of the craft. The transition period as he cast off everything that made him 'Eddie Gluskin,' and embraced the new persona he would adopt, even if it was only for an afternoon. Eddie enjoyed being someone else. An escape. Freedom.

The role could be a legendary hero or a despised murderer. It didn't matter. As long as it wasn't 'Eddie Gluskin.' His least favorite role.

After the prodding, pinching, brushing and dressing, Eddie was transformed. He walked out of the dressing room, black hair slicked back on top of his head in a severe undercut, and enough makeup to help him appear natural on camera. Felix' wardrobe contained cheap suits, unbuttoned shirts, and a faux gold chain.

Diving into the role was crucial, including changing his mannerisms. Eddie walked with more sway and movement than he would naturally. Felix was the kind of guy who cared about appearance—swagger. A king of used-car-salesman turned pornographer. Eddie wondered if he shouldn't grow a thin mustache?

Minutia was foremost on his mind when he walked back to the set.

Eddie had his own scenes to shoot, first. The film slate snapped closed, and Eddie performed. Sitting at the desk. Imaginary phone calls to make. Dennis' grimace remained in effect, but he rarely went for more than two or three versions. He told Eddie what he envisioned, and Eddie did it without any help remembering lines. Simple.

"Alright, cut," said Dennis, exhaling as he sank down into a red cloth director's chair. "Listen, switch up the cameras for Randall's entrance, get Waylon on set."

"Waylon to the set," said one of the assistants into a headpiece.

Eddie stood up from the prop chair in Felix's office to stretch his shoulders. The polyester of the suit was itchy and uncomfortably hot under the lights. He caught the eye of the assistant responsible for bringing him his water and smiled. She jumped into action and soon Eddie was sipping his cold water. Which he almost spit out when he saw Waylon arrive on the set.

"Hey Eddie," said Waylon, giving a sly smile, "Ready for this?"

The outfit chosen for the scene consisted of a sleeveless maroon shirt with a deep V-neck. The shirt showcased Waylon's small, tone arms, and the beginning of his smooth pectorals. The pants were black, skinny jeans that hugged Waylon perfectly. He looked stylish, without looking designer. A black vinyl choker hugged Waylon's pale neck, the clasp resembling a worn, metal buckle. Eddie stared at it, watching the way it bobbed when Waylon swallowed. Everything about the costume was carefully designed to ooze sex appeal.

The most shocking part to Eddie was the smudged black eyeliner around Waylon's dark brown eyes. It made his gaze even more unsettling than usual as he smiled at Eddie with the usual unbridled admiration.

When Eddie finally looked back up into Waylon's lined eyes he noticed him blushing through the thick stage makeup.

Oh, that's right, Eddie was supposed to respond.

"Fine, thanks," said Eddie, smiling. Waylon brought his hand up to hide a grin. Eddie wondered if it was the wrong response, but had honestly forgotten what Waylon had even said.

"I apologize, I had not seen the final design for Randall's character, you look…" Why was Eddie talking about that? He faltered, grasping for a word. How do you tell a coworker they look sexy as hell, without saying that? Ever. Eddie said nothing, instead.

"I knew they were dressing you like a sleazy lounge singer, but this is kinda ridiculous," said Waylon, laughing.

Eddie exhaled in relief at the subject change. He held the sides of his cheap jacket out, revealing the zebra-print lining. "I don't know, I was thinking of taking this one home. Animal prints suit me."

Waylon laughed again before techs stole their attention to prepare for the scene. After a brief repositioning and walk through the marks, the film slate was slamming down for their first scene together.

"Action…"

Waylon opened the fake door on the set and walked into the staged office. Eddie stayed motionless, staring at the messy desk, and an old rotary phone prop.

"Still nothing?" asked Waylon, as Randall.

Eddie flashed a heated glare moving only his eyes, statue-still in his chair. "Whad'ya think?"

Waylon opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened. Then stared directly into the camera.

"…Cut…uh, from the entrance again, enter quicker, throw the door more…"

Eddie put himself back into starting position and waited as the slate _clacked_ again. Waylon opened the door quicker and walked onto the set, standing stiffly on the other side of the desk.

"Still nothing?" asked Waylon.

"Whad'ya think?" asked Eddie, glaring with only his eyes.

"I didn't mean to imply that you haven't done everything you can…"

"…Cut, Waylon, you missed some lines," said Dennis, scoffing near the camera. "Holy shit, just, enter again, do you need a line?"

"Got it, no, sorry," said Waylon, flustered as he walked back to the other side of the door.

Eddie watched Dennis' reaction as he spoke to his assistants, shaking his head, and muttering. Then the clapperboard sounded again.

"Action…"

Waylon walked into the room and stood straight, staring across the desk at Eddie.

"Still nothing?" asked Waylon.

"Whad'ya think?" asked Eddie.

"Have you t-tried calling the, uh, them again today?" asked Waylon, tripping slightly over the lines.

"You think I didn't try that? You think I haven't called those pricks twenty times today already? You doubting my dedication to this film? You think I'm sitting here for my own health? You think this is easy? You think I wouldn't do _anything_ to get this part for you? You think you wanna inject with your line any second now, man, c'mon…"

"Cut."

A few crew members snickered.

"Sorry," said Eddie, waving his hand where Waylon stood on set, beet red despite the foundation, and frowning down at the prop desk.

"Waylon, c'mere," said Dennis, crooking his finger.

Waylon quickly jogged over to Dennis' side and began talking a mile a minute. Eddie couldn't hear everything but caught key phrases. He gestured to his water helper instead, focusing on taking a drink. The lights for this scene were especially hot and his cheap jacket didn't breathe.

"You know what," said Dennis, slightly louder, "break. I need a break, I shoulda taken a break before starting the new scene, just, everybody grab a drink-take ten."

Eddie stretched and walked over to the catering table. He stared at the usual spread of pastries, deli sandwiches, and fruit platters with a frown. Two crew members talked quietly to one another on the other side of the table.

"Pardon me," said Eddie, causing the two women to immediately stop talking, and stare blankly. "It's my first day on set, I was curious how things have been? Has shooting been like this the whole time?"

The two girls exchanged a look before the taller one with a cropped haircut, answered. "No, Mr. Gluskin. Everyone's been really impressed with what a natural Waylon is in front of the camera. He always knows his lines, hits his mark, takes great direction. It's weird for him to flub a scene that badly."

"I hope he's okay," said the shorter woman, frowning before taking a bite of a greasy looking pastry.

Eddie hummed to himself and smiled at the girls before walking toward the dressing rooms. He quickly found the door with "Waylon" written in bubble letters on the whiteboard shaped like a star. Eddie knocked loudly with one knuckle.

"Just a minute," came a soft reply from behind the door.

When the door swung open, Waylon looked out with red-rimmed eyes, the liner slightly more smudged that before. His eyes locked on Eddie's, and he immediately tried to shut the door. "Sorry, I can't talk right now…"

Eddie's foot in the doorway stopped it from being slammed in his face. He winced slightly.

"Can we chat?" asked Eddie. He scanned Waylon's puffy face and smeared makeup. Waylon turned his face away from the door as he took a step away, allowing Eddie into his dressing room. It was identical to Eddie's, small and cluttered, but the wardrobe and props were all very different.

"I'm so sorry," said Waylon, taking in a long breath and exhaling. "I'm just so sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, I know my lines, I just…"

Eddie stepped into the dressing room and closed the door behind himself.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Eddie.

"Ugh, I don't know," said Waylon, sniffing loudly, "could you try, like, not being you." Waylon dabbed his face with the back of his hand, attempting to keep tears at bay without ruining his makeup.

"Makeup is going to be livid with you," said Eddie.

Waylon sniffed and stared down at his hand, smeared with foundation. "Ugh, I can't move an inch without fucking something up."

"The crew said you've been doing great all week."

"Really?" asked Waylon, studying Eddie's face for some sign of insincerity. "I mean, I know my lines, and Den's been really patient with me, but I don't know, the real test was gonna be today, and you show up, and now…"

"It's my fault?" asked Eddie.

"No!" said Waylon, louder than necessary. "I mean, no," he said at a more appropriate volume. "Of course not, I've never been one to have performance anxiety in any other work, but you're…you're Eddie Gluskin, you're perfect."

Eddie snorted and leaned back against the door. "I'm hardly perfect, darling."

"D-da," Waylon lost the ability to form words for a few seconds. "See? Every time you call me darling, it's too much, it's just…

Eddie sighed and stood upright. He tugged at the lapels of his cheap suit and walked until he was encroaching on Waylon's personal space. "I'm just a person. Like you. I've been acting longer than you, that's why I seem better. It's a practiced skill—like anything else."

Waylon stared, transfixed, as he listened.

"I'm a player in this play, same as you, no more important or less, and it's only through working together that this film is going to succeed. Do you understand?"

"It's okay," said Waylon, sniffling. "I know you don't wanna make the movie. I know Jeremy forced you. You don't really wanna be here."

"This was not my first choice of a project, but it was no reflection on you, it was a personal preference," said Eddie, sighing. "But now that I am here, I intend to give one hundred percent. This project is special. There's a real chance for magic to happen. I'm not treating this project different from any other work."

"I feel so much pressure," said Waylon, speaking low, as though afraid someone was pressed against the dressing room door to witness his shameful secret. "If I suck, then the movie will suck, and your reputation is on the line. I don't want to embarrass you."

"I've done my fair share of embarrassing movies, don't worry about that," said Eddie, chuckling. "I have a feeling this _won't_ be one of them."

"I hope you're right," said Waylon. He wrung his hands together as he glanced around the dressing room. "It's not like this is my first movie, what does it say about me that I can fuck myself in front of a camera, no problem, but can't act with you while wearing all my clothes?"

"You shouldn't think that way," said Eddie, sighing. "You need to focus, to look less nervous."

"Sorry, you're just…you're intimidating, did anyone ever tell you that?" asked Waylon.

Eddie stood taller, staring down his nose at Waylon, inches below. His voice transformed into a low growl. "Intimidating, you say?"

Waylon swallowed, and took a step back, bumping into his vanity table and knocking over various bottles and papers. Eddie started to chuckle, then laughed in earnest, taking a few steps back with his hands up.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," said Eddie, grinning. "I'm just a guy, same as you. Here to do a job, same as you. I'm not perfect. I'm here to help you succeed. So please, let me know whatever I can do to help you feel more comfortable."

"It's hard, I guess since I've idolized you for like, so long," said Waylon, his laugh shaky. "When I was convincing you to take the role, I wasn't nervous because I really never thought I would get this far. Never bothered wondering how I'd ever manage to _actually act_ with you."

"Then that's your problem," said Eddie, still smiling patiently. "You're seeing Eddie Gluskin, the actor, and not Felix Carter." Eddie pulled at the side of his jacket, showing off the zebra-print lining. "Eddie Gluskin wouldn't be caught dead in this type of suit. I'm pretty sure it's sewn together with fishing wire, it's horrible."

Waylon laughed, reaching to feel the material. "I've worn worse, in my line of work," said Waylon, grinning. "You wouldn't _believe_ the things I've worn…"

"As fascinating as that story must be, we do need to get back to the set," said Eddie. A bright blush lit up Waylon's cheeks. "It always goes better on set when we actors have a mutual respect for one another, and a professional agreement about the work. So let's agree to support one another. And if you get nervous, just remember, I'm Felix Carter, and you're Randall Barton. Would Randall be intimidated by Felix?"

"Fuck no," said Waylon, laughing and standing up straighter, pushing his shoulder back. "No, Randy has no reason to be intimidated by Felix. He's got that guy wrapped around his finger…"

"There you go," said Eddie, smiling. "You should probably get to makeup, before getting back on set.

"Eddie," said Waylon, stepping closer, and throwing his arms around Eddie's body. "Thank you."

"Of course," said Eddie, giving one awkward pat on Waylon's back.

* * *

On the first take, Waylon walked through the set door, put one hand on Felix's desk and bent slightly, making a pouty frown at Eddie. "Still nothing?"

Eddie's eyes flashed as he met Waylon's pout with a glare. "Whatd'ya think?"

"You tried calling them again?" asked Waylon, shrugging his shoulders.

"You think I didn't try that? You think I haven't called these pricks twenty times today? You doubting my…"

"Hey, calm down, I didn't mean to imply that you hadn't done everything you could, just trying to help," said Waylon, sighing. He took a step away from the desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

Eddie stood up with a heavy sigh. He walked carefully around the desk and craned his neck down to meet Waylon's downcast eyes. "Hey? I'm sorry Randy. Just, stressin' out, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know," said Waylon, smiling brightly. He reached out one arm to hook around Eddie's neck and pulled him closer.

"Phone Ringing," said a crew member from offstage.

Eddie and Waylon froze, lips inches apart, and slowly turned to stare at the phone on the desk.

"What if it's…" Eddie started.

"Hurry up and answer, dammit!" squeaked Waylon.

Eddie moved back to the other side of the desk, stumbling over his feet, knocking several papers to the ground in a flurry. Eddie grasped the phone, took a deep breath, and pulled it to his ear.

"Carter," said Eddie into the prop. He stared straight ahead, away and down. He hummed. He nodded.

Waylon gesticulated wildly in Eddie's face. "Is it them?" he whispered, trying to get a response.

"I see," said Eddie, his voice cold, and mechanical. "Thank you for calling. We'll be in touch." His arm moved in a slow, measured pace as he set the phone back down on the cradle. He slowly turned his head to meet Waylon's now desperately wide eyes.

Eddie let out a long exhale, shaking his head slowly. "You got the part."

Waylon screamed and leaped onto the table, throwing his arms around Eddie's neck while knocking most of the props to the ground. Eddie laughed—not forced. The jump was improvised and the manic grin on Waylon's face was childishly adorable.

"We did it!" Waylon screeched, standing on his knees on the desk and pressing his forehead into Eddie's.

"Toldja I'm gonna make you a star, baby," said Eddie, grinning.

"Cut, okay, reposition, I want to try that jump again, and then once without the jump, Waylon, thanks for deciding to show up man…"

"Yeah, Den," said Waylon, carefully stepping away from Eddie and allowing the crew to reset the scene.

Eddie caught Waylon's eye, and they both smiled.

* * *

Shooting went long into the evening, and everyone was tired. Waylon hung around after wrap, waiting in the hallway for Eddie to emerge from his dressing room. There was no reason to look guilty—Waylon was allowed to be backstage. But he felt guilty anyways. He felt like an interloper. He jumped when Eddie's dressing room door opened and he emerged, dressed in a navy suit and white dress shirt.

"Eddie," said Waylon, pushing away from the wall and smiling. "Hey! Uh, good job shooting today!"

"Yes, thank you for all your hard work," said Eddie, smiling politely as he walked past Waylon down the hallway.

"Uh, hey, Eddie," said Waylon, walking quickly to keep up with Eddie's long strides. "So there's this bar off the lot, it's close, a bunch of the crew go drinking there some nights, it's fun, you uh, you wanna tag along?"

"Sorry, darling," said Eddie, without pausing his steps. "I meet with my friends every week and tonight is our night. Rain check?"

"Uh, yeah, rain," said Waylon, slowing down. Eddie walked through the door, into the warm night air. Waylon sighed when the door slammed closed behind him.

"Oh my god, that was fucking _sad_."

Waylon turned around quickly, hand flying to his heart from the shock.

"Fuck, Miles, how did you get in here?" asked Waylon, looking around the mostly deserted hallway.

"I told security I was a fluffer, and they let me right in," said Miles, shaggy brown hair falling into his gray eyes. He wore a gray plaid button-down shirt and light jeans.

"You can't just lie your way to get backstage, you're gonna get in trouble," hissed Waylon.

"What lie? Drop your pants, whip your dick out, let's _do_ this."

"You need to get out of here," said Waylon, pulling Miles against the wall with him to keep them out of view of most casual glances.

"No way, I'm working," said Miles. He picked up a laminated card dangling from around a lanyard on his neck. The picture was Miles, shaggy hair hanging into his eyes and an obnoxious grin on his face. The name read: Jablome, Haywood, and the clearance level: Fuck Off.

"You're not working," said Waylon, frowning.

"Sure I am, honeybun," said Miles, smiling as he dropped the identification, and pulled up his phone instead. "Check it, I caught this really desperate groupie chasing Eddie Gluskin out of his dressing room trying to ask him out on a date…"

Waylon glared as Miles pointed the screen and flipped through several pictures of himself jogging awkwardly behind Eddie as he walked out of the building.

"You're an asshole."

"So, this tight little body over in the green room, she says you and Gluskin are gonna be smooching' a lot in this movie," said Miles, his smile turning into something disgustingly sleazy. "So my hyper-intelligent brain says, well, obviously, I need that picture."

"It's going to be in the movie, it's not some scandal," said Waylon, shaking his head.

"Yeah, but, it'll be scandalous for all of five minutes, and that's all it takes for me to sell it to some magazines," said Miles, rubbing his hands together as he chuckled. "It's perfect. I'll just follow you in here, I can be your agent, your secretary, your fucking yoga instructor, I don't care, all I need is a picture of you two, locking lips, to break the story before people find out it's just for the movie."

"I'll tell the press it's just a role."

"Hell, even if the viewers _know_ it's for the movie, that first picture evidence of Eddie Gluskin lip locking a hot dude is gonna sell. And I need to be the one to sell it."

"No." Waylon rolled his eyes.

"No?!"

"No," said Waylon, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Never. You need to get out of here before I call security on you."

"I can't believe you're gonna cockblock me like this," said Miles, grabbing the hem of Waylon's shirt and tugging. "Please? I already wrote the damn article, I just need a fucking picture."

Waylon glared as he pulled his shirt out of Miles' hands.

"You're my very bestest friend forever," said Miles, gray eyes going dark as he made his best puppy eyes. "Pweeeeeeeeeeeze, cheesecake?"

"Fuck off."

"Can I at least go with you to the bar?"

"I don't feel like going out, anymore," said Waylon, sighing. "Can you give me a ride home?"

"You shoulda put a down payment on a car with that movie check," said Miles, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, I paid you back the rent, I paid back that loan from Frank, but the rest…"

Miles roughly hooked an arm around Waylon's shoulder and pulled him forward. "C'mon, I'll drive you home, even stop on the way for some food. My treat." Miles pushed a sloppy kiss to Waylon's cheek, then he stayed close, nuzzling against Waylon's chin. "You're so pent up lately, we need a nice night in, let me take care of you."


	4. Chapter 4: Scoop

**Chapter 4: Scoop**

"You can't do this, Randy," said Eddie, as Felix. The wardrobe that day was a purple suit jacket over black pants with a silky, unbuttoned shirt underneath. Eddie walked closer, grabbed both of Waylon's shoulders, and shook him. "You _can't_."

"I _can_ , and I have to," said Waylon, as Randall. Instead of shying away, he pushed his chin out and squared off against Eddie, despite his towering height advantage. "Why are you suddenly so against this, huh?"

"It's impossible for you to meet all these demands," said Eddie. "You're pushing yourself past what you can handle. Isn't it too much? Aren't you tired?"

"No," said Waylon, practically shouting in Eddie's face. "I'm not tired. _You're tired_."

"Now you're just being immature," snapped Eddie. He gasped in surprise when Waylon pushed his hands away and leveled a heated, dark glare.

"Just because you're older, doesn't mean every decision I make is immature. I can decide for myself if the workload is too much. You have to stop treating me like this," said Waylon.

"Stop looking out for you? That's my job, I'm your _agent_ …"

"No!" said Waylon, thumping a finger against Eddie's chest. "You represent me as my agent, but we're in this together. We're _equal_ partners. I don't want to always be seen as a child in your eyes. I'm not looking for a goddamn father figure."

Waylon took a deep breath, reaching for Eddie's hand to lace their fingers together.

"I want you to see me as an adult," said Waylon. "I want you to speak to me like I'm an adult. I want _you_ to..to want me, as an adult."

Waylon delivered his lines with tenderness and an alluring bite of his lip as he stared hard at Eddie's mouth.

"Cut, that was perfect, Eddie, don't change a thing, Waylon, one more time, that last time…"

Waylon sought Dennis' eyes over the cameras.

"Like, I want you to want me, as an _adult_ ," said Waylon, putting more emphasis on the last word.

"No, this time emphasis on the want, _seduce_ this old man, sway him over to your side, the only way Randy knows how…alright, take three, action."

Seduce Eddie. As if there was anything else ever on Waylon's mind. As soon as the film slate slapped closed, Waylon took a moment to carefully wet his lips with his tongue. Eddie's eyes tracked the movement, and a soft sigh escaped.

That fleeting look of _want_ , and that noise-that was just Eddie being Felix, Waylon reminded himself.

"I want you to see me as an adult," said Waylon, reaching up to cup Eddie's cheek, making sure to keep the view of the camera unobstructed. "I want you to speak to me like I'm an adult," Waylon punctuated the line with a kiss pressed to Eddie's chin, keeping their faces close, "And I want you to _want_ me, as an adult…"

Waylon flicked the smallest lick against the cleft in Eddie's chin. The sharp inhale boiled his blood.

"You already know I want you more than anything in the world," said Eddie, voice ragged. Waylon grunted when Eddie pulled their bodies together, rougher than expected.

"Then work _with_ me, instead of _for_ me…" said Waylon.

The camera rolled as Waylon stared into Eddie's eyes. So blue. He had often wondered if they were enhanced for the movies or photoshopped in the magazines. In real life, they seemed even more otherworldly than they did in print.

Eddie nodded, only slightly, and the smile on his lips slowly spread to his blue, blue eyes. Waylon smiled back, much goofier than Randall ever would.

"CUT! Okay," said Dennis. "Absolutely, a great day of shooting, we got what we need from you Eddie, take a walk. Great progress, everyone, really. Tomorrow, starting bright and early, we're at a few different outdoor sets, so check your emails, people…"

"Wonderful job today," said Eddie, stepping away from Waylon on the set designed to look like half of an empty dressing room. He reached out to give an encouraging pat to Waylon's shoulder. Waylon's skin burned through the thin, cotton fabric of his off the shoulder gray T-shirt and jeans, cuffed at the ankle.

"Thanks," said Waylon. He watched Eddie walk away. Watched him stop to converse quickly with Dennis. Continued to watch as he strolled out the stage door.

"It'd be easier to stop crushing on you if you weren't so fucking nice to me…"

* * *

"Mr. Gluskin," said one of the production assistants, some college intern. They were all completely nondescript and interchangeable in Eddie's mind. "I have the new pages to give you, and also, sir, you have a guest waiting in your dressing room."

"Thank you," said Eddie, accepting the papers and rolling up the script in his hand. He stalked toward his dressing room, already suspicious. No one was allowed in his dressing room. _No one_.

"Eddie-baby!"

Okay, almost no one.

"Darling," said Eddie, most of the stress leaving his shoulders when he sees Helen standing in his dressing room holding a champagne bottle. Her blond hair is twirled up, and she wore a short, white dress with an elaborate gold and turquoise necklace dangling across her chest. "What's the occasion?"

"I got the part," said Helen, squealing in a way that made Eddie grit his teeth. "I was going to have champagne waiting for you, but I can't open it."

Eddie chuckled as he walked over with his hand out. He leaned in for a quick peck while accepting the champagne bottle. It only took a moment for a loud _pop_ to sound in the room and echo down the hallway.

"Hey, somebody's having a party," came a voice outside the door. Waylon peeked his head through the slightly open door.

"Waylon!" Helen held up a clear, plastic cup. "Come in here! We're celebrating! I got the part!"

"Wow, that's awesome," said Waylon. "But also I have, absolutely, no idea what part we're talking about, but I love me some champagne."

Eddie poured three cups for everyone present. He handed the first cup to Helen, who accepted with a gracious bow of her head. The other went to Waylon before Eddie raised the last one up.

"A toast," said Eddie, clearing his throat, "to a talented actress, and a wonderful person. No one deserves it more than you, darling."

"Cheers!" said Helen, giggling as she attempted a sip too quickly, causing bubbles to froth on top.

"Can I ask what role it is?" asked Waylon. "I'm not sure how it works is it like, top secret?"

"It does involve some top-secret stuff," said Helen, giving a very obvious wink, "but I'm not restricted from telling people. So, I've been in callbacks for weeks now, but the studio confirmed today that I got the part! It'll be announced in the industry news soon, I'm sure."

"You have the honor of drinking with the next Bond girl," said Eddie, beaming at Helen. She gave another squeal before draining her champagne like a shot.

"Holy shit are you serious? I know a Bond girl, that's, what the fuck, that's amazing," said Waylon, laughing before sipping his own glass.

"My agent got us a room at _Trager's_ tonight," said Helen, cheeks glowing from smiling, and the bubbly alcohol.

"I'm afraid I'm stuck here until late," said Eddie, frowning. "There are early morning shoots tomorrow, as well."

"No, I actually just walked back here because Dennis has some new pages for tomorrow, he called it quits for the day for crew meetings," said Waylon, excitement causing his words to tumble into one another. "And those morning shoots are only for me and Casey, you're not even scheduled until after lunch!"

Eddie leveled a steely blue glare at Waylon.

"Oh, I mean, none of that is true, I'm a compulsive liar," said Waylon, trying to bury his face in his cup. He immediately flinched away as the bubbles assaulted his nose.

Eddie brought his hand up to his face, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "How is it possible you can be this bad of an actor in real life when you make it look so effortless on camera…"

Helen laughed, grabbing the bottle from the dressing table and pouring herself more champagne. "Don't worry, Way, I knew Eddie wouldn't want to go, but I like to invite him, anyways. Anything that isn't on the master schedule a week in advance gets shot down. But, since he's so important to me, I rushed here first."

"I am very happy for you, darling," said Eddie, before releasing a dramatic sigh. "Since I'm free, I suppose I should provide you a proper escort. I'll be there."

"Seriously?!" Helen squeaked, jerking her hand so quickly some champagne spilled onto the floor. "Oops! I'm just, so happy! Yay! Eddie is coming out, Waylon, you're coming, too!"

"Oh, you don't have to invite me," said Waylon, looking at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Eddie shrugged.

"I insist," said Helen, setting down her already empty glass. "Just make sure to wear a suit! It's _007_ themed!"

* * *

"The GPS says this is the place," said Miles, slowing down to stare out of the right side of his Jeep as they passed the restaurant. "Where's the parking?"

"No idea," said Waylon, biting his cuticle. "I shouldn't go."

"Fuck yes, we're going, don't ruin this for me, you donut hole," said Miles, turning the wheel. "Come on, we'll park around the block."

The closest parking was quite a walk from _Trager's_ , poorly lit, and directly in front of a "Trespassers Will Be Towed" sign. Miles walked toward the restaurant, fingers styling his shaggy brown hair.

"Helen said it's James Bond themed," said Waylon, adjusting his own cheap black suit. Miles wore his favorite brown leather jacket over a nice, gray shirt and dark jeans.

"Yeah, and you know I don't do theme parties," said Miles, tugging on his jacket. "Let's just see who's getting laid at the end of the night, me in my leather jacket, or you dressed like a fucking mortician. Where'd you get that suit anyways?"

"I borrowed it from Frank's storage," said Waylon, trotting to keep up with Miles' quick pace.

"I'm gonna go ahead and assume those stains aren't from the ranch on your salad earlier?" asked Miles.

"What? Where!?" asked Waylon, staring down at his crotch in time to watch Miles' hand dart in and nut check him. Waylon whined and held his hands in front of his groin.

"Bagtagging, you fall for that every time," said Miles, adjusting his jacket as they turned the corner. "Stand up straight, quit whining, we're almost there."

"Gah, ya dick," muttered Waylon, grimacing as they approached the main entrance.

Waylon had heard of _Trager's_. The restaurant was an old staple of Sunset Boulevard. Huge, bay windows extended into the sidewalk where people waited. There was a black canopy over the main doorway with a galaxy worth of fairy lights stuck through the dark canvas material. Inside looked even more crowded, wall to wall people, mixing around tiny tables with white tablecloths.

A long line of people stood in the cool night air outside the restaurant. Muscle bound men with fake tans, and an endless stream of beautiful young women in short dresses and sky-high heels. Quite a few people glared at Waylon when he walked past the line, directly to the podium at the entrance. Large, muscular bouncers in black suit jackets pushed in close together, watching him carefully.

"Um, hi, Waylon Park," he said, smiling nervously at the doormen. Sweat dripped ominously down the back of his neck. Damn Miles for walking so fast. "I'm, uh, here to see, a party, with Eddie Gluskin, and Helen Granat."

No response. Only a long, level stare that made Waylon fidget. The doorman finally glanced down at the large book open on the podium in front of him. A small nod toward the bouncers. Someone opened a velvet rope, and the entire line of waiting people erupted in a chorus of groans.

"Wait, who are you?" asked the doorman, pointing a pen toward Miles.

"I'm his plus one," said Miles, slipping an arm around Waylon's waist.

"Plus one," said Waylon, smiling like a fourteen year holding out an obviously fake ID.

The doorman shrugged and wrote something down. Miles and Waylon rushed inside before the rope could be clipped back into place.

Miles walked in first, with Waylon clinging to his jacket. The restaurant was cramped with tables, and a large bar in the back area. A huge, spiral staircase led to a second story. Flashing lights on the ceiling suggested there must be a dance floor, somewhere.

"Where do we go?" hissed Waylon.

"We? Oh, no no no," said Miles, turning to pry Waylon's hand from his jacket. "I'm working, creampuff. You go find your boyfriend and his wife."

"They aren't married," said Waylon. Miles smirked. "Oh, and he's not my boyfriend."

"Yeah, whatever, just don't blow my cover, alright? I think I already saw one of the Kardashians over there," said Miles, grinning like a shark prowling through the shallows of a New England town on Fourth of July weekend.

Miles evaporated into the crowd. Every table was full of people drinking garish cocktails and eating small plates of fancy cuisine. Though everyone was dressed in flashy clothes, nobody looked spy-chic. Waylon decided to try the stairs.

A completely different scene awaited him at the top of the stairs. A long, wooden bar dominated one side of the room, an empty dance floor the other, and a few booths tucked away in dark corners. All the men upstairs wore fine suits, and the women wore clinging gowns. A man at the top of the stairs looked Waylon up and down before stepping out of the way, allowing him into the private area.

Waylon walked around, glancing over the edge of the balcony that opened to the restaurant below. Miles stood out, prowling around, not sitting down. He had acquired a drink, somehow, and was chatting up a table of women. Waylon should never have brought Miles.

"Way!" Helen threw her arms around his neck from the back, hugging him. "You came! Yay!"

Waylon turned around, and Helen fell into his side, knees buckling. She laughed as Waylon struggled to help her find her balance.

"Helen, great party, almost didn't think they were gonna let me in," said Waylon.

"Of course you got in, I put you on the list, I knew you'd come," said Helen. "Come buy me a drink."

Waylon doubted Helen needed anymore to drink, but he accompanied her to the bar, anyways. Her blond hair wound up in a complicated bun of curling tendrils. Her dress was skin tight, black, with a long slit up both legs and a plunging neckline that stopped just above her naval. She looked every bit a Bond girl.

The bartender made two Cosmopolitans when Helen approached, without every mentioning money or identification. Waylon usually preferred beer, but he felt fine holding up the martini glass with its vodka mixed drink and curling orange rind garnish.

"You must be having the night of your life," said Waylon, taking a sip of his drink.

"Eddie showed up," said Helen, sighing. "He usually doesn't come when I invite him to these things. But apparently, the studio guys all know him, so they're in the back, drinking Scotch, and talking shop. _Boring_."

"Well, you don't have to sit back there, you can dance out here," said Waylon, smiling.

"No one's dancing," said Helen, sighing into her drink.

"I'll dance with you," offered Waylon.

"No thanks," said Helen, sighing again. "It's supposed to be my party, announcing my big role, I won't look very professional if I'm alone out on the dance floor, tipsy."

Waylon nodded. Tipsy. Sure, Helen.

"I gotta get used to that, I guess," said Waylon, chuckling. "Everything's image in Hollywood."

"Oh, please, like it's not all about image in the porn industry," said Helen, snorting as she laughed obnoxiously. "I've seen your penis."

"That's old news," said Waylon, grinning.

"Everything's image everywhere," said Helen, smirking. "Don't let anyone tell you different. Fake it 'til you make it." Helen pushed her martini glass into Waylon's, causing a _clink_ , and a sloshing exchange of liquid. "Whoops." Helen's giggle was infectious. Soon, Waylon joined in.

"How's filming going?" asked Helen.

"Good," said Waylon. "I mean, we're on schedule, getting ready to go on location soon, the director seems really happy with everything."

"How's Eddie doing?" asked Helen.

"Good, he's a pro, seriously, it's a treat to watch him in action," said Waylon.

"He's not having a hard time with the man-on-man, thing?" asked Helen.

"No," said Waylon, frowning. "Why would he have a problem? Does he talk to you about it? He says he has a problem? I mean, the bulk of the movie…"

"Slow down, whoa, he didn't say anything, I just wondered," said Helen, shrugging. "Considering his past. I thought it was a possibility he'd struggle to even fake liking a man's touch."

"A…oh, you mean because of the…childhood thing…"

"Obvs," said Helen, shrugging. She drained her glass and set it on the bar behind them.

"Does he talk about it, often? Is he still hurting?" asked Waylon. The idea of Eddie still suffering from his childhood trauma made Waylon's chest ache.

"He doesn't talk about it ever," said Helen. "He barely talks to me about dinner plans. We don't talk."

"But…you live together?"

"Weird, right?" Helen's words slurred.

"Surely you talk about some things, just nothing personal about his past…"

"Nope," said Helen, shaking her head, dislodging a new blonde tendril. "I tried, in the beginning, to get to know him. To ask the questions you ask when getting to know another person. He never opened up. Always changed the subject. Finally, flat out told me he didn't wanna talk about 'sensitive subjects' which seemed to include anything a person could talk about. And then, the contract, so…"

"Then what do you guys talk about?" asked Waylon.

"The weather?" Helen laughed. "Um, work. Plans we make, work, trips we go on for work, work, work. Sometimes, he tells me stories about past movies he did." Helen snorted another laugh and brought her hand up to cover her face.

"Sorry," she said through her laugh. "Just, remembering the time he told me about the stunt guy in _Executioner II_ who was required to wear a green suit during all of his serious scenes, and the guy was so damn muscular, during the dramatic finale, he just split the suit completely up the back, and wore nothing underneath. Why he thought that was appropriate…"

Waylon laughed, shaking his head. "Thank God there are no special effects in this film…"

"There's gonna be tons in this Bond movie, I offered to do my own stunts, and got laughed out of the room," said Helen, grinning.

"Eddie never talks about any of the years on _A Family of our Own_?"

"No," said Helen, before pausing. "Well…there was a child actor on the set of _Shallow Tides_ when we were filming together. Eddie always went out of his way to talk to the boy. Told him that he was an actor at his age, too, and he remembered it being difficult. He's alway doing that—looking out for kids on set. I thought it was because he wanted a family. But, that's not even…"

"Poor Eddie," said Waylon.

"Yeah," said Helen, sighing. "Speaking of Eddie, we should go check on him. Come on!"

Helen pulled Waylon's hand, leading him toward a large, circular booth in the back corner. Four men in suits dominated the table, but Waylon only recognized one.

"Eddie-baby, look who I found," said Helen, sounding far from sober.

"Darling, are you feeling alright?" asked Eddie. "Perhaps you'd like to sit down?"

"No way, people are just starting to dance, the night is young, old man," said Helen, snorting at her own joke. Eddie's face remained less than amused.

"Hi, Eddie," said Waylon, smiling. Eddie always dressed nice, but that night he wore a classic black suit, white shirt, and black bowtie. Waylon wondered why no one ever thought to cast Eddie as James Bond. He looked perfect.

"Glad to see you made it," said Eddie. "These are the Misters Borsch and Lamb, from Lambo Studios, and this gentleman beside me is the owner of this establishment, Rick, allow me to introduce you to…"

"No need, I'd recognize that face anywhere," said the man seated next to Eddie. He had a long, gray ponytail slung over his shoulder, and wore a black three-piece suit and spectacles. He reminded Waylon of a Bond villain.

"You know Rick?" Helen asked Waylon, eyes going wide.

"We haven't been formally introduced," said Rick, standing up. He wiped his hands on the tablecloth before sliding out of the booth and extending a hand. "Rick Trager, this is my restaurant. You're Benny, right?"

Waylon's face fell, and he struggled for a moment, blushing horribly. "I'm working under my given name, now. Waylon Park."

"Waylon, huh? I think I like Benny better," said Rick, giving a slimy smile. "This guy went by Benny Jetts. Been in some of the best new content to come out of PoundTown dot com in the past five years. _Definite_ star potential."

The two old men at the table turned and nodded to one another. Only Eddie seemed unmoved, staring daggers at Rick. His blue eyes grew even darker when Rick slid an arm around Waylon's shoulders.

"Why don't I get you a drink, and show ya around?" asked Rick.

"Uh, sure," said Waylon, giving a weak wave back to Helen and Eddie as he was led away.

Rick Trager knew the name of every patron at the restaurant that evening, despite the large crowd. Waylon recognized many of the names, minor star from television and movies, at least one professional athlete, and a comedian best known for physical comedy. Waylon was impressed—and flattered that Rick was showing him so much personal attention.

Rick paused at the balcony, staring down below, frowning. Waylon followed his gaze and saw Miles, walking through the crowd, his phone held up in an attempt to look nonchalant. Rick leaned into the nearest bouncer and whispered something. The bouncer walked away.

By chance, Miles glanced up, and Waylon caught his eye. He quickly pulled his finger back and forth across his neck, warning Miles of the impending danger. Miles promptly vanished.

When Waylon turned back around, the Lambo Studio Executive pair were standing, discussing something quietly with Rick. Waylon waited patiently, glancing around. The dance floor was finally full, and Helen was at the center of the floor, dancing with some man Waylon recognized from one of those reality dancing shows.

"Hey, Benny, there's an even more private area in my club, VIPs only," said Rick, putting on a wide, thin smile. "It's a quieter place, where people can discuss business. See, you're not in any binding contract with Murkoff, so Lambo is willing to discuss some terms. In private. In the back room. Look, buddy, you've got definite potential, if you're interested…"

"Of course I'm interested," said Waylon, fighting to keep from throwing his hands up with happiness. "So far, I don't have anything lined up past this film, and my agent is, well, not _technically_ an agent, but Frank knows his stuff…"

"This is all very, very interesting," said Rick, putting a hand on Waylon's shoulder, and pushing gently in the direction of the back wall. A part of the wall opened a door, barely discernible thanks to being wallpapered and paneled to fit seamlessly with the wall around it.

"Holy shit! What a cool door! It's like some kinda haunted mansion from a cartoon, do you have a bookcase that turns around into a secret passageway somewhere around here?"

"What an imagination," said Borsch, or Lamb. Waylon didn't catch which was which, and they both looked so similar being septuagenarians with silver hair wearing black suit and tie.

Rick produced a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door. He held it open with a grin. "This way, Benny."

"I think not," said a booming voice behind the group, that could only belong to one person.

"Eddie, hey," said Waylon, beaming.

"I need Waylon to come with me, we have something important to discuss," said Eddie, forcibly grabbing Waylon by the arm and pulling him away from Rick's grasp.

"Hold up, Eddie, can't that wait? We were trying to make Waylon an offer here," said Rick, and the two executives nodded along.

"Waylon's coming with me," said Eddie, narrowing his eyes.

"Wait, can I give you guys my number? I'd really love to speak with you…"

"I'll give them your contact information," said Eddie, squeezing Waylon's arm until it hurt. Eddie dragged him back toward the crowded bar.

Eddie kept his face turned away, making it impossible to gauge his reaction. Was he jealous because Waylon was being offered a job, instead of him? The old talent out to sabotage the new? Or was he jealous because…

Waylon's heart raced faster. It couldn't be because Eddie was jealous of these men getting to spend time alone with him, was it?

"Hey," said Waylon, hissing in pain as he stumbled. Eddie continued to pull him, and Waylon almost tripped flat on his face. Once they were at the opposite end of the restaurant, near the stairs, Eddie finally stopped.

"Seriously, what the hell, Eddie," said Waylon, frowning. Waylon glared up at Eddie, who looked bored. "They were gonna discuss work with me. We're not all huge stars like you with good agents and tons of projects to choose from. I'm starving for connections right now, why the fuck would you…"

"Are you really this naive?" asked Eddie, sighing.

"N-naive? I'm not naive, I've been around, I know my stuff, but how can I learn this business if you won't even let me get into meetings…"

"That room is where talent goes to die," said Eddie, a sad frown on his lips. "Rick, studio executives, they enjoy the sport of getting young, ambitious talent into that room, and seeing how far they'll go for a job."

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes," said Waylon, jutting out his chin. "You're underestimating me."

"They don't have any jobs for you, Waylon," said Eddie, chuckling to himself. "Well, they have a couple of jobs they'd like you to perform _on_ them, but none of them involve acting in front of a camera. They're going to pressure you, for sexual favors."

"W-w…you can't know that, why would you think that?" asked Waylon.

"Because that's what Rick and his ilk do in those rooms," said Eddie, staring back at the dance floor. The strobe lights reflected eerily in his dark eyes. "They're not good people."

"They're not really studio executives?" asked Waylon.

"Oh, they are," said Eddie, nodding. "But they're not nice people. They'll use that status to get whatever they want and leave a wake of destruction in their path. I worried the moment Rick recognized you."

Waylon's laugh was devoid of any real joy. "Wow, I thought you were jealous of me getting some opportunity. You were just nervous they'd try something. And they did. And I almost fell right into their trap."

Waylon shook his head and walked away. He went to stand against the railing, and stare down at the main restaurant below. He needed to find Miles. Time to leave.

"I'm sorry," said Eddie. He had followed and leaned against the railing directly beside Waylon. "I can still get you into that room if you wanted."

"Of course I don't want that," said Waylon, throwing a heated glare up at Eddie. The menacing effect was lessened by the tears. "So it's real, then? The casting couch? It's not just in the porn industry where they force you to fuck for free before you get the job if you're lucky. People taking advantage of young talent."

"Sadly," said Eddie. He stared away, not speaking. He politely ignored when Waylon wiped a stray tear.

"They think because I act in porn, that I wouldn't mind selling my body for a role," said Waylon, sighing.

They weren't even wrong, he thought. Waylon couldn't count how many times he'd fucked or sucked his way into landing a job. Like a disgusting piece of human trash.

"I don't want to have to fuck my way to the top," said Waylon.

"It's one way to go, though it's dangerous, and inevitably leads to ugly fallout," said Eddie. Waylon's eyebrows shot up his forehead as he turned to stare at Eddie.

"You're serious?" asked Waylon.

"Of course," said Eddie, shrugging in his suit. "You stick around long enough, you see everything in this industry. Some people manage it. Not the route I would attempt, nor would I recommend it, but I feel it's important to be truthful with you. Shielding you from these things won't make your next few career moves any easier. I'd be a bad mentor."

"My…mentor, well, that's not me," said Waylon, clenching his fists as he scanned the crowd. _It's not me anymore_ , he qualified to himself. "I'm gonna make it based on my talent."

"I'm pulling for you," said Eddie.

Waylon turned to meet Eddie's eyes and found him smiling. It was a small thing, almost shy. It made Waylon burst out in a huge grin, tears forgotten.

"It's really not helping my schoolboy crush on you when you say nice things like that," said Waylon.

"Respect," said Eddie, chuckling. "It works better, in our work, if we respect one another. I respect you too much to sit by while you are potentially harmed. I hope you'd respect me the same way."

"Absolutely," said Waylon, smiling, "I would rather die than hurt you, Eddie." A flash of brown leather in the crowd below caught Waylon's eye. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. No real desire to be here, anymore."

"I don't blame you," said Eddie. "My car is waiting. I'll give you a ride."

"Isn't Helen going to want to stay, though? This is kinda her party," said Waylon.

"It is," said Eddie, nodding. "We came separately. I can only tolerate these parties for so long."

"Sounds good, but, I live really far away from here, and far from your house."

"I don't mind mind giving you a ride," said Eddie, pulling out his sleek cell phone. "My car is very comfortable."

"I'd like to give _you_ a ride," said Waylon. Eddie paused in the act of typing on his touch screen keyboard. Waylon met his gaze for several moments before blushing. "I'm guessing I said that out loud…"

"You did."

"Sorry," said Waylon, "uh, I have a weird sense of humor."

Eddie narrowed his eyes but resumed texting. Waylon pulled out his own phone and quickly texted Miles.

 _No need to drive me home I got a ride_

"Ready?" asked Eddie. He pocketed his phone into his breast pocket, reminiscent of how James Bond might conceal a gun. Waylon nodded, much too quickly, and far too long. Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Car's out front."

Waylon's phone buzzed as he walked down the stairs. He followed close to Eddie as they navigated through the crowded restaurant, and out the front door.

 _Is it a hot ride? Does it have a friend? I'm horny_

Waylon glanced at the text and chose to ignore it.

Eddie walked up to the black limousine parked in front of _Trager's_. He waited as a man in a chauffeur's uniform came around and held the door open. Eddie climbed into the back seat, and Waylon felt suddenly nervous.

Limousines weren't a common occurrence for Waylon, and the ones he had been in were always crowded and full of house music, liquor, and drugs. He was so distracted by thoughts of Eddie luring him into a limousine for drinks and dancing, that he tripped on the edge of the car. Waylon landed with his head dangerously close to Eddie's lap.

"Shit, sorry," said Waylon, scrambling to get out of Eddie's lap. He crawled to the far end of the bench that ran up the length of the limo. "I'm, uh, not used to limousines."

"Obviously," said Eddie as the driver closed the door.

Waylon waited in embarrassed silence until the car began to move. Tinted windows dim the city lights in the distance. The limousine was quiet, not even the usual engine noises were audible. Peaceful.

The silence was broken by the electric whine of the partition between the front seat and the cabin lowering.

"Excuse me, Mr. Park? Can I get an address for your place?" asked the driver.

"Sure, it's, uh, 8403 Edgewater, it's uh, a bit of a drive, maybe you can drop Eddie first, and then me, since…"

"Thank you," said the driver. The electric whine returned until the partition was back in place.

Eddie sat in the backseat, leaning against the side of the car, staring down at his phone. The glow from the screen illuminated his face in the dark cab.

Even after a month of seeing Eddie every day, Waylon still felt a sense of awe. His angular face was attractive and expressive. Eddie created every array of emotion with his facial expressions. But Waylon found himself growing fond of the one he made when he wasn't acting.

The real Eddie Gluskin.

At first, Waylon assumed it was because Eddie was bored, or possibly looking down at those around him. His face could take on an elitist sneer that was difficult to describe. Waylon began to recognize the expression as Eddie being, well, Eddie.

Serious. Quiet. Contemplative. Eddie saw everything but gave nothing away. His most natural, resting face was cool and controlled. Waylon silently thanked the darkness for providing him an uninterrupted chance to study him.

As the car continued to sway, Waylon began to feel strange. How many drinks had he consumed at the party? Was it possible Rick slipped him something, after all? No, no one had gotten him a drink, except himself. But Waylon was definitely feeling ill. He let out a pained grunt.

"Are you alright?" asked Eddie, eyes canting up from his phone screen. "You look pale."

"I feel kinda dizzy," said Waylon.

"Did you have much to drink?" asked Eddie.

"N-not at all," said Waylon, pausing to take deep, cleansing breaths. "Sorry, I don't know what…"

"You're motion sick," said Eddie, switching his phone off. "It can happen in a car like this. You need to face forward. Come back here, and sit next to me."

Waylon stumbled as he had to crouch over to move through the cab to the bench seat across the back of the limousine. His stomach lurched and rolled with every movement of the cab. He whimpered as he finally landed in the seat next to Eddie.

Eddie leaned forward, opening a compartment in the car, and pulled out a bucket of Ice. Within moments, Eddie had a napkin, wet from melted ice in the bucket, and held it out to Waylon.

"Here," said Eddie. "Sometimes, this helps."

Waylon slapped the wet cloth on his forehead and shivered. It did help a little. Once Waylon stopped feeling so warm, he was able to look straight ahead, and his sickness subsided.

"Thank you," said Waylon, once he felt strong enough to carry on a conversation without gagging.

"Don't mention it," said Eddie.

Waylon became acutely aware of Eddie at his side. Maybe it was because of how dark it was in the limousine—the only lighting was fiberoptics in the ceiling, evolving patterns imitating a starry night sky.

"No wonder all your costars end up falling in love with you," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. He felt Eddie shift uneasily in the seat at his side. "You're a really nice guy. You watch out for me. You encourage me. You take care of me, even when there's nothing in it for you."

Eddie made a soft, humming noise, and Waylon felt emboldened to continue.

"I mean, I'm not a girl, we're not going to date, but you still treat me with so much care and respect," said Waylon. "They all fall for you—because of that."

"It's a sad state of our world that common courtesy is considered exemplary treatment."

"That's such an old-fashioned thing to say, jeez," said Waylon, chuckling. He leaned into Eddie. "I find it really hard to believe you're actually that old-fashioned."

A passing streetlight outside the dark tint backlit Eddie's confused expression.

"When I was a kid, I remember you had a reputation," said Waylon. "I mean, women, drugs, booze, the tape, getting into fights at ritzy after-parties…"

"I had a lot of issues to work through when I was younger," said Eddie. "A couple stints in rehab, two hundred hours of community service, and some good therapy. I'm proud to say, I have been an upstanding citizen for over a decade now. That life isn't me, anymore."

"Well, except for the women," said Waylon, grinning.

"Why do you say that?"

"Are you serious?" asked Waylon, laughing. "You are always in the gossip rags, new girl here, new girl there, and yet, they never stay—never last, and you've never been married. The eternal bachelor, everyone's always writing about it…"

Eddie exhaled an empty laugh before staring away from Waylon. Street lights continued to pass, lighting up Eddie's face as he gazed out the window.

"I stopped caring what people wrote in those things," said Eddie. "I've been dealing with it all my life."

"Yeah, because of the childhood thing," said Waylon. A soft hum was Eddie's only answer. "Sorry, I know you don't talk about it, but, I guess I just wanted to tell you that, growing up, you were a real inspiration to me."

Eddie straightened in his seat and turned his head to stare at Waylon. A huge smile bloomed across Waylon's face in the darkness. Eddie's eyes were so blue, even in the dark. Just the way Waylon remembered from all of his favorite movies. And this time, they were focused on him.

"I didn't have the, um, best home life, growing up," said Waylon. He chuckled to break the awkward silence. "I found out you got emancipated from your parents, and I wanted to do the same thing."

"What stopped you?"

"No cash," said Waylon, shrugging with a grin. "But it's whatever, I got away from them in the end, and we still have a relationship, so everything's fine."

"If it was an unhealthy environment, then, I am relieved you were able to get away."

"Well, yeah, more like thrown out of the house, but, same difference," said Waylon, grinning. The limousine slowed, and Waylon recognized the rundown signs announcing Melrose Apartment Block. "Ah, mi casa."

Eddie grimaced at the scene outside the window. "I was under the impression that you were successful at your…chosen career path. Um, adult videos."

"Oh, I was," said Waylon, grinning. "You trying to ask for some porn recommendations? It's mostly gay, but I do a little bit of everything, ooh, there's this one, _Benny Benches Bradly_ that I'm particularly proud of, it's very hot…"

"Please," said Eddie, holding up a hand. "Please, stop. I only asked because this place seems rather worn down for someone successful at their job."

"Ah, yes, well, the thing about that," said Waylon, laughing nervously. "Ya know, debt, family stuff, uh, bad decisions." Waylon pushed his hand through his curly hair, grinning. "But I'm alright. This movie cut me a good check, so I'll be able to hopefully move somewhere nicer. And if the movie does well, who knows, I could even get more work, I can start building something for myself. It'll be good."

"I believe in this movie," said Eddie.

"Me too," said Waylon. He startled when the door beside him opened. The chauffeur held the door open, waiting silently outside the car. "Thanks for the ride."

Waylon tumbled, gracelessly, out of the limousine. He watched as the taillights disappeared beyond the apartment gates.

Like a dream. A real conversation. With Eddie Gluskin.

Waylon fumbled through his suit pockets for his phone. The number of texts was alarming. Waylon quickly unlocked the phone and stared at the messages. His stomach dropped to his feet.

 _Definitely got my scoop_

The picture attached was taken from a cell phone. It showed Waylon draped over Eddie's legs with his head tucked into Eddie's lap. It was taken the moment Waylon fell into the limo.

Waylon sighed.

"Goddammit, Miles."

* * *

A/N: R-P I also love Dennis lol there's a lot of other characters that pop up later too, since this world was so big there was just, room for everyone I guess? lol Going to try for a double update next week to hurry this slow burn along ;)


	5. Chapter 5: Acting

**Chapter 5: Acting**

The sound of painful vomiting greeted Eddie as he walked downstairs to the kitchen the following morning.

"Eddie-baby," Helen managed to groan out from her spot on the kitchen floor, hugging a small trashcan, "I may have had too much to drink."

"Maybe," said Eddie, chuckling. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Do you have any guns in the house?" asked Helen. "I need to borrow one, I got this, pain…right…here." She tapped herself on the forehead, just above her eyes. "Ugh, kill me now."

"I apologize, but I need to get to the studio," said Eddie.

"Sorry, I know you're busy, I just got so excited about my role," said Helen. She heaved violently into the wastebasket, but nothing came up save thick strands of saliva. "Thanks, by the way, I couldn't have gotten it without you."

"Do you have someone on the way?" asked Eddie.

"Yeah, already texted the crew," said Helen, spitting noisily into the wastebasket. "Ugh, no more drinking for a while. They're putting me on a strict diet and workout regiment for the movie."

"Sounds fun," said Eddie, grinning.

"It'll be awful," said Helen, loud breaths exhaled into the basket. "At least my trainer is a nice guy—very fit. I met him at the signing since he's kinda part of the deal."

"I wish him the best of luck finding some physical activity to hold your interest."

"I should ask him about pole fitness classes," said Helen, pausing as though about to vomit again, but nothing showed. "Waylon seems to really like pole dancing."

"W-Waylon?"

"Yeah, for his movie you're doing, he's going to pole dancing classes, he says it's a really tough workout, but it's fun."

Eddie busied himself counting tiles in the kitchen. Of course, the script called for Randall to dance on a pole. Eddie had assumed it would be professionals, body doubles, edited together to give enough of an idea that Randy could spin on a pole if needed.

Waylon was taking lessons. Eddie would get to see Waylon swinging around on a pole. And for some unknown reason, that interested him very much. Normal curiosity. Not because Waylon had a nice body and would probably be really good at pole dancing.

"You're not leaving tonight, right?" asked Helen.

"No, darling," said Eddie, "I'm not leaving until tomorrow."

Another round of dry heaving replaced any spoken answers, but Helen gave a thumbs up with her head down over the basket.

* * *

"Try again," said Miles, smirking from the tiny kitchen table.

"I'll…let you come with me on the location shoot, who knows what kinda wacky shit will happen when the crew is shooting at a strip club?"

"Hmm, maybe," said Miles, rubbing his chin in an obnoxiously obvious show of mulling over the offer.

"Um, I can give you dirt on the porn industry- _insider knowledge_ ," said Waylon, wringing his hands together. "I talked to the lady whose job it is to go back over and do the sound effects, she's gotta be edging seventy, and she watches the scene and shoves her fist in a peanut butter jar full of Vaseline, and…"

"Gross, absolutely _no one_ wants to know about that," said Miles, shuddering.

"I know an actor that 'retired' but, word on set, he was actually dealing with rape accusations from his costars, or I can tell you how to determine if they're using real come or fake stuff…"

"No one wants to know that much about how their porn gets made, as soon as they nut they usually don't even wanna think about it ever again at least, until their next shameful, fapping session."

"I could ask around the crew? See if anyone knows some juicy gossip?" Waylon hoped the desperation didn't show on his face.

"What could be juicier than Eddie Gluskin with a male pornstar's head in his crotch?"

" _Trager's_."

"That was the restaurant's name, yes," said Miles, eyes narrowed.

"I can give you a story, about _Trager's_ ," said Waylon, eyes shining with new hope.

Miles pursed his lips and squinted at Waylon across the shabby apartment. "I snapped a few pictures that sold for ten bucks each, but it wasn't some hot spot of marketable intrigue."

"Listen, last night at _Trager's_ , the owner, Rick, and two executive guys, they tried to lure me into this room," said Waylon, walking into the kitchen and speaking with his hands.

"It was like a fucking Scooby-Doo Mystery, Shag! A hidden door in the wall, upstairs in the VIP, and they tried to lead me in there, said it was for a job or something, trying to see how far I was willing to go for a purely hypothetical movie role."

"Oh, so there _is_ no role," said Miles, a smile slowly spreading across his face. The first scent of blood in the water. "Oh, my."

"If they tried it on me, they've definitely tried it on others," said Waylon.

"What kinda kinky shit did they do to you?" asked Miles, biting his lower lip in perverse anticipation.

"Nothing," said Waylon, scoffing. "Eddie saved me from it."

"Shut your cockhole."

"No, really," said Waylon. "He made excuses, pulled me away, and then, told me what was up."

"Eddie Gluskin knows that it's going on? Maybe he was on the pervert end of the deal?"

"I highly doubt that, and Eddie can't be part of the story, the idea was for it to _not_ be about Eddie."

"Yeah, but that story would sell more," said Miles, leaning back in the cheap kitchen chair, "plus, you guys seem to actually have something weird happening, hanging out outside of work, protecting you from perverts, shoving your face down into his crotch in the limo…"

"I fucking tripped, jackass," said Waylon, huffing.

Miles sat silent, brow furrowed as he seemed to weigh and measure the evidence brought before him. "You are going to give me an anonymous source," said Miles.

"Okay."

"Oh hell yeah, I'm gonna go talk to some of the staff, find out some names, do some research," said Miles, rubbing his hands together. "I wish you'd gotten a picture of that room."

"Sorry, Eddie said he could get me back in there, but I really don't want..."

"Don't worry, this story will sell, maybe even to something better than _Star_ -abuse and intrigue like that could be in like, _People_ ," said Miles, chuckling darkly to himself. "If this story doesn't pan out, or I find out you were _lying_ to me…"

"It's the truth," said Waylon, using one finger to make an X over his crotch (rather than his heart), "slut's honor."

"Oh, and once I'm done with this story, I'm gonna drive out to join you on that location shoot."

"What? Why," said Waylon, popping a hip as he crossed his arms. "That story'll be enough, and you know it."

"I decide what's enough, fun dip," said Miles, smirking. "Besides, you know I love strip clubs. So many fond memories from my childhood."

"Which is all kinds of fucked up…"

"You love me," said Miles, already turning his attention back to his laptop.

* * *

"Okay, we're all tired people, but we gotta finish while we got the night, so let's focus," said Dennis. Those present responded with a tired groan they halfheartedly attempted to stifle.

Eddie spotted Waylon through the large crowd of people milling about the backlot. Waylon walked with his shoulders hunched over—undoubtedly tired. Eddie had just gotten off a long break, but Waylon had been working all day.

Waylon wore a black shirt with thin straps over dark gray jeans with a studded black belt that matched his choker. His hair was considerably more disheveled than usual, his smudged eyeliner smeared, and bruises painted on his neck with makeup.

Eddie wondered how much of the apparent exhaustion was because of the last hours spent on emotional scenes, and how much was manufactured by the makeup department.

That evening's scene was behind one of the office buildings where an outdoor, metal stairway zigzagged up the side of the building. Tall, concrete block walls encased the staircase causing the entire location to echo. One of the techs was responsible for constantly holding up a 'Quiet on Set' sign.

"Look at this primadonna, finally making an appearance," came a gruff voice behind Eddie.

"Walker?" asked Eddie, a wry smile for his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Finished shooting a while ago, just stopping by to say hey before I head out," said Chris Walker, a towering man with a buzzcut and trademark crooked nose from so many breaks during an earlier MMA fighting career. He wore comfortable clothes, but some of his stage makeup remained in effect.

"How'd it go? You guys are running behind," said Eddie, pausing to lick his lips. "Was it Waylon?"

"Nah, he's a good kid," said Chris, chuckling. "It's that damn artsy director, holding everything up. Took all afternoon to film the damn thing. Poor kid's probably exhausted. He told me about the shooting schedule for this film, why is everything so rushed?"

"Murkoff isn't investing much capital in this project," said Eddie, shrugging. "They put us in a crunch from the beginning. It was bound to lead to a few late nights."

Chris smacked a ham-sized fist across Eddie's back, causing him to grunt in pain. "Some things never change. Here we are, working on another film together, where the majority of the budget went to your salary."

Eddie gave a flat stare. Chris was the only one of his friends that could meet his eye without looking up.

"Gotta admit, I was jealous when I first read the script," said Chris, his chuckle a low rumble. "Really sounds like something special. I wouldn't've minded a bigger part."

"You're always the biggest part on any production you work on," said Eddie, smirking at his muscle riddled friend.

"You're still not funny," said Chris.

"I'm out of town at the end of the week, I'm afraid I won't make dinner," said Eddie.

"Oh yeah, the Asian press tour," said Chris, nodding.

"Well, shooting on location over in Nevada, then off to Hong Kong," said Eddie.

"The boys'll miss ya, Aiden just got back from blowing up an entire million dollar set, but I'm positive he won't mind repeating the story when you get back."

"No, I imagine we'll all be tired of hearing it, soon enough," said Eddie, smirking.

"Okay, get my actors on the deck, let's mark through these positions, c'mon guys, moonlight's a wasting…" If Waylon looked tired, Dennis looked on the verge of collapse.

"Take care of yourself, old man," said Chris, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. "I'll see you soon."

"Eddie, on deck," came Dennis' voice over a megaphone, necessary in the outdoor location. Shrill feedback from the device blared before he could stop it.

Eddie gave Chris a final wave before jogging past the cameras. Waylon was already speaking with a stage director, walking through different positions marked by tape on the asphalt. Everyone was motivated to get home before sunrise, which helped rehearsal pass quickly. Soon, the crew was rushing around doing final sound and lighting checks.

Waylon sat on a metal step, hugging his legs and resting his chin on his knees. The tattered costume, messy locks, and harrowing makeup gave him a kicked-puppy appearance.

"Everything going alright?" asked Eddie, smiling his best smile while tugging at the cheap, metallic blue jacket of his wardrobe that evening. Waylon noticed him and snapped out of his trance, smiling back. The happy face vastly contrasted with the rest of his appearance.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm a night owl so I'm usually fine with staying up, but I've been in some pretty grueling dance rehearsals all week, and I'm feeling pretty drained. Don't worry, though, I can do the scene."

Dance rehearsals. _Don't think about Waylon on a pole, don't think about Waylon on a pole…_

"I wasn't worried about the scene," said Eddie, all sincerity. "Only worried about you, darling."

Waylon propped one elbow on his knees and resting his cheek in his hand as he stared up, a sleepy smile on his face. "You're so sweet, Eddie."

"I want it darker," said Dennis, megaphone squeaking.

"Any darker and you can't fucking see them," cried a lighting director.

An orange emergency lamp on the building was the main source of lighting, including the light filters and reflection disks. Dennis continued to argue with the lighting guy.

Eddie stood, awaiting his cue. He toyed with the same cheap gold chain. Felix's fashion sense remained depressingly consistent through much of the movie. That evening's metallic blue jacket was over a silky, white shirt with the top four buttons open.

"Alright, places, this'll do," said Dennis, shouting several commands to the crew before it became deathly quiet on the set.

Waylon went back to his starting pose, arms hugging his knees as he sat on the third metal step, eyes trained on the ground.

Eddie walked to his starting mark, out of frame, and watched Waylon. Was he really alright? His bare shoulders looked overburdened; his face haunted. Was he hiding something?

But then it occurred to Eddie that he wasn't looking at Waylon, but Randall. And he was Felix. Walking up to his boyfriend, sitting alone in the dark, looking like that. Eddie's heart _ached_. He fought the primal urge to rush in and offer comfort.

Eddie was so deep in thought he never heard Dennis say 'action.' He walked up to the staircase, footfalls echoing in the stairwell. He stopped at the bottom near where Waylon sat. Waylon visibly tensed when he approached but remained frozen in place.

Eddie reached out and gripped Waylon's chin, causing him to grimace. He tilted Waylon's chin up, staring down at his marked neck, before releasing it with an exasperated exhale.

"What tha hell happened to you?" asked Eddie, as Felix.

"Nothing," said Waylon, as Randall, without moving his head. A raw, quiet noise just above a whisper.

Eddie leaned back into Waylon's personal space and pressed his fingers to Waylon's neck where two bruises had been painted on with makeup.

"Nothin'?" asked Eddie, breathing quickly through his nose. "I know those weren't from me, and this was scheduled to be a solo video. So you wanna try again, and tell me what tha fuck happened in there?"

"Nothing," said Waylon, again, quiet and broken.

"My ass," said Eddie, putting his hands on his hips, brushing his cheap jacket back. He stared away, scowling. "Having a little fun on the side? Was it the director, is that it? Big director, I'm some lowly agent, so the first chance you get, you try to fucking jump on a bigger dick?"

Waylon winced and dropped his chin to his chest.

Eddie shook his head, chuckling to himself. "This is how you repay me, huh? I bust my ass, manage to get you a scene with the biggest porn production company in town, leave you alone for five minutes and you're _fucking_ someone else, you fucked me to get an agent, you fuck him for a role, are you even capable of not…"

"It wasn't like that," said Waylon, finally glancing up. Eddie was surprised to see tears welling up in Waylon's brown eyes.

Eddie kicked the side of the stairs, more a pantomime than an actual painful kick. No need to break a toe. There was still a loud metallic clang that echoed in the stairwell. Eddie waited several breaths, shaking his head.

"I shoulda' known," shouted Eddie, the words echoing in the stairway. "I shoulda' known you couldn't change."

"What?" asked Waylon, staring up with shimmering eyes.

"Once a whore, always a whore," spat Eddie. "This is who you are, rushing to suck tha dick or anyone that can get you ahead in this world."

"How can you say that about me? Don't you know me?" asked Waylon, standing up with a stumble. "You think I wanted this? Those assholes changed the script, and when I said I was uncomfortable and needed to ask my agent, they said I could always pack and leave. They _forced_ me..."

"A likely story," said Eddie, glaring. "How'm I 'sposed to trust you, huh? How'm I 'sposed to trust that someone who fucks for money has to be forced by anyone?"

"My profession is my _choice_ , it doesn't entitle _anyone_ to _rape_ me," said Waylon, raising his voice.

Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. The lighting on set was perfectly calculated to make them shine like morning dew.

"You think that of me?" asked Waylon, quietly, "You were the one who wanted to date, to try for something real, and you think I would _cheat_ on you…betray you like that?"

Eddie didn't answer, only continued to keep his face a harsh, angry mask. Waylon stared up at his expressions and then dropped his head. As though his neck lacked the strength of will to keep holding it up.

Waylon was crying—a real, ugly cry. It took him several moments, fighting back body-wracking sobs before he could even attempt his next lines.

"I'm not a whore," said Waylon, actively crying. There was snot. Tears. The works. Eddie felt a lump rise in his own throat at the emotional display. "Those bastards in there thought that of me, they thought that because I wanted to make a video that I would do whatever disgusting thing they wanted."

Waylon paused, forcing deep breaths to slow his crying. Eddie worried for a moment that Waylon was breaking character—that he would call for a break. But then he continued.

"They were right," Waylon laughed, bitter and hoarse through his tears, "they were right, I didn't fight, I didn't run away, I froze up. I thought that was the only way, to get the part, to get work for you and me…"

Waylon wrapped his arms around himself, shaking with the force of his tears.

"You were the one who told me I was worth something, even when everyone else threw me away," said Waylon, struggling to keep his voice from trembling. "I should have fought, run, I don't know," Waylon bit back a violent sob, "Don't throw me away, Felix…"

Eddie didn't know when his own tears had fallen. He stared, speechless, at Waylon's face, wet and puffy. The very real sniveling coming from him as he stood as tall as possible.

"No," said Eddie, voice cracking slightly. "I could never…"

Waylon launched himself at Eddie, locking his arms around his waist, and burying his face into Eddie's chest where the shirt was unbuttoned. He pulled away to stare up at Eddie. "Please don't stop loving me, don't let people hurt me, please…"

"Randy…"

Waylon leaned away, staring down at the ground in front of the camera instead of at Eddie. "I know I don't deserve you, don't deserve anyone to care about me…" Waylon's eyes squeezed tight, and he fought for composure in what seemed a very real break. Eddie frowned and rubbed along Waylon's back.

"I didn't want it," said Waylon, shaking his curls. "But it was for the part, for us, for my future, and it seemed so easy to do because who cares, right? Not like it's the first time I agreed to sex and ended up getting choked out, _fuck_ , I'm disgusting, and worthless, _a piece of shit_ …"

Eddie felt as though someone had elbowed him in the stomach. Waylon was hurtling off script.

"I don't deserve anyone to care about me," Waylon's desperate words tumbled out, "especially not you, and those assholes proved everyone right, proved what a fucking _disgusting_ slut I can be, and…"

"Stop talking like that," hissed Eddie. As Felix to Randall. Or Eddie to Waylon?

"It's true, I'm trash," said Waylon, sniffing loudly as he finally met Eddie's eyes again. Eddie searched them for whether or not the scene was still going. Was this the scene? "But please, Felix, don't give up on me, don't throw…"

"I'll never throw you away," said Eddie, bringing up both hands and swiping Waylon's cheeks with his thumbs. New tears immediately replaced the old. "I'll never throw you away. _Ever_. I'm sorry—I'm angry, but not at _you_ , nothing you can do would make me throw you away."

Waylon grasped the back of Eddie's head and forced their lips together. Eddie kissed back, closing his eyes, and pulling Waylon closer. His hands clenched, again and again, holding Waylon. As they kissed, he tasted the salt from the very real tears.

"I'm sorry," whispered Eddie when their lips parted. If Dennis wasn't going to call the scene, he would continue with his lines. "You don't gotta do porn, Randy. You don't gotta do anything you don't wanna do. You're good enough for the mainstream, you don't gotta let people fuck you to get ahead."

"I love you," was Waylon's whispered reply. Eddie kissed him again, stealing the words away. "I love you, I love you…" Waylon continued to mumble even as Eddie attempted to stifle the words. The scene was over. Why wasn't Dennis calling it?

Until the cameras stopped, Eddie had no choice but to stand there, swaying, holding Waylon tight against his chest. Waylon's pitiful shaking, and the way he clung to Eddie's chest, kissing the spot where his skin was exposed through his unbuttoned shirt.

"Shhh," said Eddie, softly soothing…was it Randall, or Waylon? He wasn't sure anymore, but he squeezed Waylon to his chest and kissed his head lightly. "You're okay."

"I'm sorry," whispered Waylon.

"Cut," said Dennis. _Finally_. Eddie's arms immediately dropped from around Waylon, and he took a step back. Eddie stood blinking rapidly, wiping his cheeks.

Eddie glanced around the set and saw more than one person dabbing their eyes or blinking rapidly. Waylon chuckled by his side. "Sorry, I got carried away."

"It was great," said Dennis, sighing and shaking his head. "Eddie, those tears? Perfect? The kiss was so…real, and those additions to the dialogue, Waylon, so much raw emotion. Let's try it again, from the top, but that was…really something."

"Thanks," said Waylon, accepting a tissue from one of the crew members, and blowing his nose.

The next few takes focused on different inflection and capturing different camera angles. The dialogue stuck strictly to the script. Eddie felt positive the first cut was the one that would make the finished product. But he didn't mind the additional takes. Even though it required kissing Waylon for an exceptionally long time.

And it wasn't bad. Wasn't uncomfortable. It didn't matter at all that he was a man or a coworker when their lips slotted together Waylon was just a warm, welcoming embrace. Eddie could sink into him and lose himself completely in his role. Felix loved kissing Randall. The taste, the warmth, his velvet tongue and adorable breathy noises.

"Alright, great job, everyone, we got what we need and we're on vacation to _beautiful_ Nevada, see you guys soon," said Dennis, packing up his equipment as a few crew members clapped lazily.

Eddie walked back to his dressing room, in a daze. Waylon had some kind of magic. It was the only explanation for how he could draw in a seasoned veteran so powerfully. Eddie needed to clear his head. He sat alone in his dressing room, staring at the wall. Something grew in his mind, becoming difficult to ignore. And it made him frown to admit it, even to himself.

Jeremy Blaire was right.

A horrifying thought—but true. _Mainstream_ was the script; Waylon was the actor. This film could be the production to save Eddie's career and launch Waylon's into orbit.

A thrill coursed through Eddie's body as he shrugged out of his wardrobe, and changed back into his street clothes. A production he believed in, and a performance that made him proud. Had it really been that long since he'd felt this kind of pride in his work?

Waylon's performance had been better than expected in the previous weeks. But Eddie had not expected much of the pornstar. Waylon's acting was serviceable, but the emotional scenes were the real crux. Eddie's emotions were still reeling from watching Waylon sob with regret and depreciate himself that badly in front of so many people. Even if it was only a role.

Eddie was still staring in silence when the door opened without a knock.

"Eddie?"

"Waylon," said Eddie, quickly tucking the white dress shirt into his gray slacks. He stood up straight and faced the door. "May I help you?"

"Oh, shit, sorry," said Waylon, blushing and rubbing his hand through his messy hair. He was out of his own wardrobe already and wearing a XXL orange shirt that drowned him with the logo on the front, and a pair of skinny jeans. His eyes were still lined with smears of black. "I actually just wanted to say, um, sorry, for ya know, getting snot all over you."

"It's fine," said Eddie, smiling.

"I mean, my usual work, bodily fluids are expected, but you probably don't usually…"

"I believe it worked well in the scene," said Eddie, pausing to choose his next words carefully. "The scene was difficult for you." Not a question.

"Ugh, that was painful, ya know?" Waylon's chuckle was a thing of nerves. Embarrassment. "I guess it hits a little too close to home, this script, sometimes…"

"Art imitates life," said Eddie, realizing how useless the advice sounded only after he'd spoken it aloud.

"I hope I'm as good of an actor as you are, one day," said Waylon, laughing. "You were able to cue up tears on command, and I was over there, crying like a damn virgin choking on their first cock…"

"That's…graphic."

"…and it felt so real, ya know? Because I know what," Waylon paused, raking his hands through his curls, "I know what he's going through."

"It's good practice, to use your personal experiences as fuel for your performances," said Eddie. "And, for the record, the tears came because of your performance. I was touched. Truly."

Waylon blinked up at Eddie, mouth falling open until he noticed and closed it.

"I'm impressed with your work," said Eddie, nodding. "This movie is going to be an artistic success, and it's because of you."

Waylon brought both of his hands up to his eyes and began to cry again, even louder than during the shoot. Eddie stared, awkward, eyes darting around the dressing room.

"I'm awfully sorry—I…I said something wrong, I apologize…"

"No," said Waylon, sniffing loudly. "Sorry, you've just, you made me the happiest man in the world." Waylon laughed, a wet, choking noise. "Thank you. For everything."

In the wake of the strange departure, Eddie sat down and felt more confused than ever.

* * *

A/N: Double update this week!


	6. Chapter 6: On Location

**Chapter 6: On Location**

Unimpressive: the word that best summed up the shooting location. When David pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot, Eddie hoped it was only to ask for directions. He was already on his phone before David could park.

"Whoa, wait, hold up, a Motel 6?" asked Andrew.

"That's what I said, moron, keep up," growled Eddie.

"I'll make some calls, alright? It's clearly stated in the contract that you're given a level of accommodation while on location. Maybe there's some mix up. I'll talk to Jeremy."

"Don't call Jeremy, _call me a better hotel_ , immediately, I'm not getting out of this car," said Eddie, before disconnecting the call. Eddie hit the intercom button. "Keep the car running, David, I'm not getting out."

"Yes, sir," came David's voice from the speaker.

Eddie sighed and pulled out his phone to peruse the latest industry news. He immediately stopped short when he saw the front page of his usual source.

 _Trager's Dirty Secret: Was a back room in the local industry hot spot used to coerce Hollywood-Hopefuls into giving up the goods?_

Eddie narrowed his eyes. What a coincidence. That the same situation arose with Waylon when they had gone to Rick's.

Scrolling quickly, without reading the entire article, Eddie saw headers about the secret room, and comments from anonymous victims of the practice. There were pictures of the door in the wall, and the dim lit room behind it with leather couches and video equipment. Eddie recognized all of them as originating from _Trager's,_ and the realization turned his stomach.

A new call popped up on the screen, and the article blinked away.

"Ed, call off your agent, I don't have time to deal with his dick envy today," said Jeremy, groaning over the line.

"He's calling because I was driven to a Motel 6," said Eddie.

"Have you looked around, yet? You toured the town? You're shooting at a strip club adjacent to a brothel, the only other places for rent in the town are mom-and-pop motorway motels, or trying to rent a house from one of the real life inspirations behind _The Hills Have Eyes_. So, how about you suck it up for a five day shoot, yeah?"

"My contract…"

"Your contract says that you get preferential lodging, and the Motel 6 is it in that town," said Jeremy. "It's not in the budget to charter you a helicopter to and from Bel Air everyday, unless you wanted to pay your own way."

Eddie closed his eyes and sighed. "I suppose, I've stayed at worse…"

"Do you even remember that roach infested beach house during _Shallow Tides_?" asked Jeremy, laughing. "I hope they bulldozed that place after we left."

"I had to stay outdoors in tents during some of the mountain shots for _Return to the Summit_ ," said Eddie, grinning into the phone.

"See? Where's that attitude," said Jeremy, chuckling into the phone. "Everything else is going well with the film, right? Dennis and the production manager seem satisfied."

"Yeah, everything's been going fine," said Eddie. No use in inflating Jeremy's ego by praising the production and thanking him for forcing him into the part.

"Look, if it goes over seven days, I'll personally roast Dennis' nuts, but until then, can you stay at the Motel 6?"

"Later, Jer."

Eddie's head jerked up when someone tapped loudly against the glass of the limousine.

"HEY," called Waylon, cupping his hands around his eyes and staring into the dark tinted window. Eddie pulled away from the door, his face inches from Waylon's only separated by the tempered glass. "EDDIE, you in there? I haven't gotten my room yet, where's yours? Let's be neighbors!"

Eddie sat watching Waylon lean over, and grin stupidly. Waylon turned his head a couple inches, obviously looking at his own reflection. It was odd. Waylon looked positively adorable in a faded band T-shirt and torn jeans. Curly blond hair framed his face, illuminated by the desert sun like a halo.

Looking beyond Waylon, Eddie spotted a group of strapping men approaching. Most of the group wore tank tops or tight muscle shirts. One of them pulled a tattered suitcase over to Waylon, causing him to smile and thank the man.

Eddie narrowed his eyes and pressed the intercom button, again. "I'm getting out."

In a matter of seconds, Waylon stepped away from the car. "Hello again! Is Eddie in there? I couldn't tell."

David smiled before opening the door that Waylon had been leaning against. Eddie stepped out, adjusting his travel-worn gray shirt and black slacks.

"Seems we're all staying in the classiest motel in town," said Eddie, frowning. He shielded his eyes, and surveyed the motel. It looked even more rundown in the glaring sunlight. Light stucco walls, maroon painted doors, and a rusted metal staircase to the second floor. The asphalt in the parking lot radiated heat in hazy waves.

"Hah," said Waylon, grinning. "The guys were telling me there's a brothel nearby, like, right near where we're shooting. If this place is horrible, you wanna go see if they got vacancies?"

"I think I would rather have bed bugs than crabs," said Eddie. "I'll pass, thank you."

Eddie waited while David retrieved his luggage, and walked into the main office of the motel. Waylon walked beside Eddie, rolling his own luggage that shifted and tumbled on uneven wheels.

"We can find something else fun to do in town, then!"

"According to Jeremy, there is nothing for two hundred miles," said Eddie, sighing. "Oh well. It's a good character exercise. Felix likely lived in one of these motels for a long time after his wife threw him out."

Waylon laughed. "Poor Felix, lonely old man in a seedy motel. I bet Randall visited more than a few of these, too, but for completely different reasons."

Eddie hummed as Waylon chuckled and continued.

"Now I'm wondering what would have happened if Felix was drunk and depressed in a motel room, and through the wall he just starts hearing Randall getting fucked to pieces, and he wouldn't even know that was the man that…"

Eddie frowned at the sinful smile on Waylon's face.

"Sorry," said Waylon, shrugging, "overactive imagination. Or maybe it was the plot of one of my videos and I just forgot."

Eddie waited outside of the office while David checked in for him, and Waylon checked in for himself. David emerged first, and Eddie soon found himself sitting on a scratchy comforter flipping through basic cable in a room situated between David and Waylon.

The walls were much too thin. David was showering, and Waylon was playing loud, undulating music, the same song, over and over again. Eddie reconsidered chartering the helicopter.

Eddie tried to be patient-he tried to turn on devices to block out the noise, but it was a losing battle. He walked next door to bang on Waylon's door.

"Just a sec," came Waylon's muffled response. The music ceased, and loud stomping followed.

Waylon opened the door wearing a black crop top, showing his tone stomach and arms. Every visible inch of his tan skin glistened with sweat. Waylon's curls were matted down, and he panted loudly.

"Oh, Hey, Eddie," said Waylon, pausing to wipe sweat away from his eyes. "What's up?"

"The music," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "Um, do you need to…what is it that you're doing, exactly?"

"Practicing my choreography," said Waylon. He laughed at Eddie's raised eyebrow. "We're shooting all the club scenes, Randy Bourbon dances at a club."

Waylon took a step into the room to grab a bottle of water from the dresser. He took a long drink, and Eddie watched his throat as he chugged the water. "Sorry if it was disturbing you. Was it the dancing, or the music? I could just turn it down, maybe?"

"Um, nevermind," said Eddie, averting his eyes, "I hadn't realized it was for work."

"You wanna help me?" asked Waylon, face lighting up. "I haven't really decided how I'm going to dance during our first scene."

"Our scene?"

"The one where Felix meets Randall," said Waylon, grinning.

Eddie knew the script by heart. He knew that Felix was going to sit at a table and watch Randy dance. He knew that Felix would purchase a private dance, and be led into the backroom where the two engage in their first sexual encounter.

Despite knowing what to expect, Eddie hadn't considered exactly what those scenes meant for him and Waylon.

"I feel like it will play better, on screen, if I'm improvising," said Eddie, coughing to divert attention from his discomfort. "It's the best way to achieve a more, awkward, meet cute feel, that way…"

"You're always right," said Waylon, ruffling his damp hair. "Damn, I'm lucky to be working with you. Fuck, man, thanks again, Eddie."

"Well, happy practicing," said Eddie, turning away from the door.

"Wait, um, do you wanna grab some food? Or something? I could use a break," said Waylon.

Eddie took a moment to stare at the small rivulet of sweat pooling in the hollow of Waylon's throat, the pink flush of his cheeks, and the light sheen on his exposed abdomen before shaking his head.

"I apologize, David already brought me dinner," said Eddie.

Waylon's smile remained, but the light in his eyes dimmed. Eddie immediately regretted being the cause.

"Would you like me to send him back out for something for you?"

"Oh! No, that's okay, I'm good," said Waylon, his smile brightening again. He hung out the doorway and watched Eddie until he was back inside his own room.

Eddie stared at the ceiling, but sleep evaded him. He couldn't stop imagining Waylon in his cutoff shirt.

* * *

Eddie ran into Waylon in the second story breezeway of the motel first thing in the morning. It was frigid in the breezeway.

"Hey, is your bed comfy?" asked Waylon, yawning loudly.

"No," grumbled Eddie.

"Damn," said Waylon, holding out a steaming Styrofoam cup. "If it was, I was gonna beg to bunk with you. My bed is hard as a rock, and the comforter was so crusty all I could think about was like, how many people probably fucked dirty in that bed, and semen, and…"

Eddie accepted the coffee with a quirked eyebrow.

"What? It's just coffee, free in the lobby," said Waylon, taking a loud sip from his cup. "Tastes like shit. Free shit."

Eddie took a sip, grimacing. It truly was horrible, but the caffeine was welcome.

"I have to admit, I had ulterior motives for stalking your door and bringing you coffee," said Waylon.

"I find that entire sentence very ominous," said Eddie, walking toward the stairs.

"I know, right? But seriously, can I get a ride to the set?" asked Waylon, following behind Eddie.

"You don't have a car on premise?" asked Eddie, pausing at the top of the metal stairs.

"Oh, I don't have a ride anywhere," said Waylon, grinning. "I hitched a ride here with a few of the dancers. I know them from rehearsal, but it's seriously six sweaty dudes in a Ford Taurus, so if you could spare me a seat, I'd be eternally grateful."

Eddie chuckled, walking down the stairs with heavy steps that rattled and clanked.

"What?" asked Waylon, holding his coffee up to keep from spilling as he followed down the stairs.

"Six sweaty dudes poured into a tiny car, sounds like the beginning of one of your videos," said Eddie.

Waylon stopped walking and grinned until his face was split in two. "Are you…are you stereotyping me right now? You think, what, because I'm gay, I love being sandwiched between hot, sweaty guys? Or because I did porn I'm always one bass riff away from an orgy?"

Eddie paused when they arrived at the limousine, already running. "I've caused offense?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"No, I just can't believe you're actually ribbing me," said Waylon, laughing. "Like we're friends. Coworkers. Whatever."

Eddie shrugged as David walked around the car.

"And you're right, it was exactly the plot of _Stick-Shift Six_ , I played a hitchhiker, thrown out when his boyfriend left him for another man, who gets picked up by members of this Australian rugby team…"

"Stop talking," said Eddie. Waylon quickly sipped his coffee and the two sat in silence as David opened the car door for them. They remained silent as they awkwardly dropped into the backseat. It was a short drive to _The Sultry Peach_.

The producers likely chose the location because it was relatively close to Los Angeles and willing to hand over the entire building for shooting. All of the scenes were shot during the day when the club was closed to the regular clientele.

Eddie grimaced as he looked around the main room. An eternal fog of cigarette smoke hovered in the air, even though no one was allowed to smoke on set. All of the surfaces looked sticky, and the curtains around the stage were threadbare. It was disgusting.

It was perfect for the narrative they were creating.

The first day on the set was often chaotic. Eddie had trouble finding his portable trailer, and his makeup artist was late. Once he was made up and dressed, Eddie wandered onto the set and found the choreographers working with all of the dancers. There was a gratuitous amount of pelvis thrusting and half-naked men.

Dancers of every shade of skin, hair, and eyes moved across the stage. Every one of them was as tall as Eddie, bedecked with muscles, and wearing a ridiculous costume. A cowboy with assless chaps gyrated on the main stage, a police officer in hot pants hovered near catering, and a man wearing a sailor's collar tipped his head toward Eddie with a grin.

For once, Eddie was thankful for his cheap suit, open shirt, and gold chain.

A few catcalls from the crew caught Eddie's attention. Waylon walked onto the stage, flanked by costumed dancers. Eddie had no idea what Waylon's costume was intended to depict. It didn't matter. All Waylon wore were metallic purple bottoms and a mess of glittering body oil.

The lighting was set up to play perfectly with the outfit. Waylon glistened. His body was taut and moved with a fluidity that drew in the viewer's gaze, and refused to let go. Eddie had to swallow to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

Had Eddie always found Waylon attractive? Was he getting a little _too_ into character? Why would anyone keep a strip club so goddamn hot…

The first set up was a solitary shoot in the club bathroom while the dancers practiced. Glaring fluorescent lights showcased the grimy state of the strip club's bathroom. It was filthy. Authentic. It brought out the dark side of a gentleman's club. The patrons that vomited noisily after too many drinks, stole into a stall for a quick sexual encounter, or hid away to do drugs where the bouncers wouldn't see.

The scenes inside the bathroom were difficult. Space was crowded, only one camera, requiring several takes of every scene. Eddie worked through each different version until Dennis was satisfied. Eddie kicked the bathroom stall door until it fell from its hinges for one take. Hours ticked by inside of the stuffy bathroom as Dennis fought to create the right blend of emotions coursing through Felix's veins that fateful evening.

The night Felix met Randall.

The main room in the club, despite its dingy furniture and the lingering smell of ashtray, was a welcome change to the claustrophobic bathroom. The break passed too quickly, and Eddie was led to a chair near the stage. He waited as the lighting and camera crew finalized adjustments.

Waylon walked through his marks with a stage director, ensuring he knew all of his marks and camera locations. His earlier flagrant display was covered with a demure white cotton robe. It couldn't stop Eddie from imagining him bare underneath.

The music was full of bass and house's color-changing strobe lights provided the lighting. Dennis called for quiet on the set, the clapperboard sounded, and filming began.

Waylon's robe had vanished, and he was dancing on the stage. Eddie sat, leaning back low in the chair, legs splayed, and eyes never wavering from Waylon's performance. Eddie needed to watch every move because Felix would watch every move.

How much of Waylon's movements were clever choreography, and how much was his own natural rhythm? Performances of this nature usually left Eddie unamused, but Waylon was something else entirely. It was disconcerting.

Discomfort bled into Eddie's portrayal of Felix. A man, at the end of his rope, dropping by an all-male strip club in some desperate attempt to fuck away his problems. Felix doesn't really have any hope, but then he sees Randy dancing on the stage, something shifts.

Waylon tried a few different angles and moves before sinking down to his knees on the stage. He crawled toward the moving camera, closer to Eddie. Dark eyes burned and a wet tongue slid out between his lips.

Eddie felt hot. He forgot his lines. He remembered that he had no lines.

All he had to do was stay upright, and drool over Waylon's performance. The drooling was automatic, but staying upright proved difficult. Eddie's body threatened to melt into the chair. Then, Waylon swung his legs over the side of the stage.

"CUT," said Dennis. "Okay, Eddie, reel it in, Felix is having a bad night, he's not that easily lost in the performance."

"Of course," muttered Eddie.

"Back on mark, let's go again from Waylon dismounting the stage," said Dennis.

Eddie settled back into his seat and the music cued up. Waylon walked in front of him and put one leg up on Eddie's chair before rolling his hips in an obscene display. The lights glinted off the metallic material of the purple bikini cut briefs.

Eddie stared at Waylon. He couldn't remember if he was supposed to be staring at Waylon's face, or his crotch. It was hard to make out more than dark eyes with the metallic briefs glinting blindingly bright.

Fingers dug into the arms of his chair, and Eddie's mouth fell open as he watched Waylon dance. He tore his eyes away from the briefs and caught Waylon's eyes instead. Smoldering.

There were other extras in the background dancers on the stage, waitresses in skimpy outfits, and an entire army of crew members in the club. But as far as Eddie was concerned, it was only him and Waylon.

Eddie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Waylon leaned forward, smirking, as he put his palm against Eddie's chest. Eddie jumped and pushed himself as flat as possible against the back of the chair. He glared down at his lap.

"CUT," said Dennis. "Eddie, are you okay? You need a break? Because I'm ready to move to the back room, except I need Felix to actually request it…"

Ah, that was right. Eddie had _one_ line.

On the next execution of the dance, Waylon took his time rolling his hips before bending at the waist, reaching across the small table and putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder. Eddie shot up, knocking the table on his thighs on the way up. Waylon snapped upright and stared back at Eddie in confusion.

"Private dance…um," Eddie paused to clear his throat. They could edit it out later. "You do private shows...you dance in private, uh, in tha back?" asked Eddie, as Felix.

Waylon laughed, and Eddie tried to remember if it was scripted. His confusion doubled when Waylon grabbed his face with both hands and grinned. Eddie winced at the feel of clammy hands against his sweaty face.

"Thirty dollars," said Waylon, fighting to keep from laughing again.

Eddie managed a nervous nod, and Waylon slid a single finger down the middle of Eddie's chest, over the open part of his shirt, over the buttons, and stopping just before his belt. Eddie sucked in his stomach so badly it was concave.

"Wanna take me back?" asked Eddie, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"Thought you'd never ask," said Waylon, giving a devilish smile. He took his time turning around, pushing his hips out and looking over his shoulder. "This way…"

"CUT," said Dennis, breaking into his own laughter. "Eddie, goddamn."

"I'm sorry, that was good," said Waylon, between laughs.

"You're giving me flashbacks to my first awkward trip to a skin bar," said Dennis, shaking his head.

Eddie smiled and decided to accept the laughter as praise. Getting into character. Sure. That's what happened. He wasn't sure that he did any better in the following takes, considering snickering around set.

"Definitely got it, let's get a few more scenes of Waylon dancing, I want the camera behind Eddie so he's in the shot, just improvise some movements, all the extras on mark, we gotta clear out of this place in thirty minutes so make it count, people."

Only Eddie's back and profile would be visible in the scenes. There was no reason for Eddie to stare at Waylon. No need for his eyes to follow every sway and step, every spin on the pole, every smile, every wink. There was no reason for it, but Eddie stared, anyways.

* * *

Eddie waited behind _The Sultry Peach_ where several trailers were parked. The sun was orange, and the remaining crew rushed to clear out for the night. Some of the staff were already arriving, and there were even a few cars pulling up. Probably happy hour.

Waylon emerged from one of the crew trailers, surrounded by some of the dancers. He wore a green plaid shirt over light jeans, but some glitter still sparkled on his cheek. He saw Eddie, and a huge smile broke out.

"Eddie," said Waylon, trotting away from the group.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't sure if you required a ride back to the motel since I drove you here," said Eddie.

"Ah, you know, these guys are actually walking next door to the uh, the brothel," said Waylon, grinning at Eddie's immediate shock. "There's nothing else to do in this podunk town but, it might be fun. I mean, there's drinks there at least, maybe we could talk about the shoot tomorrow."

"I'm afraid I've lost the will to go out on work nights," said Eddie.

"C'mon," said Waylon, giving his best puppy eyes. "It'll be fun."

"I appreciate the invitation," said Eddie, frowning. "I'll consider it."

"That's a no," said Waylon, grinning. "It'd be much more fun if you were there." Waylon paused to drag his eyes up Eddie's figure, gnawing at his lower lip. When he reached Eddie's eyes, and look of confusion, he quickly averted his eyes and blushed. "Er, I'll see you in the morning?"

David was already holding the door open when Eddie arrived at the car and stepped inside. He sat in the back seat, leaning against the door, staring out the window.

Waylon and the dancers walked across the parking lot, over a short fence, onto the adjacent property with a large house nestled away from the road. Eddie scowled and hit the intercom. "To the motel."

A brothel? Did they even have male prostitutes at a brothel in Middle-of-Nowhere, Nevada?

Eddie was worried. Not jealous, because there was no way he could be. He was just concerned that Waylon might get into another situation like he had at _Trager's_. Or Waylon might get too drunk to perform the scheduled scenes in the morning.

The last point influenced Eddie's decision the most. He paced in his motel room for a half hour before changing into a clean buttoned shirt, a casual suit jacket, and tailored slacks. He texted David to let him know they were going out.

David hadn't seemed surprised in the least when Eddie told him the destination. "Drop me at the gate," Eddie instructed over the intercom. No need to make a fuss, driving to the front gates of a brothel in his company limousine. He walked the rest of the way to the front door, forcing a confident he didn't feel.

A small waiting room greeted him past the doors. It was probably meant to be considered 'Southwest chic' but Eddie imagined a roadside souvenir shop in Arizona had thrown up on the walls. The room was dim, and a closed door on the back wall pulsed behind it.

"Why, hello there, sugar," said a woman in a low-cut dress suit. She was likely in her late forties, fit and beautiful. Her hair was blond with streaks dyed cotton-candy pink. "Here to play?"

"I'm meeting some friends," said Eddie. He reached for his money clip and slid out a crisp bill.

"We're all friends here," said the woman, winking. "Cover charge is twenty, and I need to see some identification."

"How about you keep the change, and we forget about the ID, darling," said Eddie, tapping the bill on the counter. The woman's face seemed to perk up at the word.

"Say, you ever get told you look like Eddie Gluskin?" the woman asked, smiling as she carefully took the bill from Eddie's fingers.

"All the time," muttered Eddie, pushing open the door. A wave of loud music washed over him as he stepped into the main room of the brothel.

Eddie was transported into a wild west saloon—or at least a low-budget, brothel version of it. More wood paneling, velvet cushions on wooden chairs, and a bevy of beautiful women putting their assets on display behind the bar.

A woman in a micro skirt carried a large tray of different colored shots. Eddie followed with his eyes as she balanced the tray and carried it to the back of the room.

Plenty of dark corners with comfy booths and velvet curtains. The tables were lit with kerosene lamps—or, more likely, electronic components meant to mimic said lamps. Several different booths had the curtains drawn, and some tables held men talking over beers with women hovering over their shoulders.

A swinging saloon door in the back caught Eddie's eye as one tall man walked past them, down a long hallway with a gussied up lady on his arm.

Eddie scanned the room until he found a group sitting in the back. The bartender paused and unloaded the entire tray of shots onto their table. Eddie recognized several of the muscle bound dancers.

A handful of women hovered around the table. Some of the actors performed for the women who squealed in delight. Eddie stared until he spotted a glimmer of blond curls. Waylon leaned in to listen to one of his companions before the table burst out in laughter.

Waylon held up a glass with clear liquid and ice. Water—or straight liquor? Eddie had been invited. There was no reason to be insecure. He walked toward the group before Waylon stood up, and brought Eddie's movements to a halt.

"Jake!" Waylon's voice carried through the room. He laughed as he reached out, and slid his open palm across one of the dancers' stomachs, prompting the man to lift his shirt to give a closer feel. The show received catcalls and cheers from the gathering.

Waylon bent at the waist to inspect closer, and someone smacked his ass. The resounding smack caused several heads to turn in the main room. He bolted upright, and his eyes landed on…

"Eddie!" Waylon's grin was huge as he stumbled over the furniture on his way out of the booth area, and back toward the entrance. The group stared at Eddie for a half beat, before resuming their own conversations in more hushed tones. "Hey, I didn't think you were gonna show!"

"Perhaps I have made a mistake," said Eddie, keeping his demeanor cool despite the growing discomfort. "Now that I have seen this establishment, I can say with surety that this _isn't_ the place for me."

"Wait, don't say that," said Waylon, lower lip pushed out in what could only be called a pout. Waylon was pouting. "Stay and have a drink with me? What can I get you?"

"Go back to your group, you seemed to be having fun," said Eddie, glaring back at the booth of dancers. They were all watching closely while pretending to be _not_ watching closely. How did these amateurs get jobs as extras in a movie?

Waylon looked back toward the group and gave a half-wave. "They're fun guys," he said, turning back to face Eddie, "but I'd rather spend time with you."

Eddie scoffed, turning to stare at the bar—anywhere to break eye contact. "I apologize, I was curious about the type of business. Now that my curiosity has been sated, I'm not interested in spending any more time here."

"You don't wanna look at the girls?" asked Waylon, waggling his eyebrows with a smirk.

"Strong pass," said Eddie.

"Not interested in girls?" asked Waylon, eyelids lowering as he took a half step closer.

"You're here, and you're not interested in girls," said Eddie.

Waylon laughed, dimples coming out in full force. "You got me there. Definitely more into tall, dark, muscular guys." The next step forward trespassed into Eddie's personal space. Waylon reached out his hand and stopped just shy of touching the fabric of Eddie's shirt. "Say, you're a tall, dark, muscular guy…"

"Hardly professional," said Eddie.

"Well, consider it practice for tomorrow," said Waylon, smiling. He paused a breath, before sliding fingers along the front of Eddie's shirt.

"I don't require practice," said Eddie, more breathless than intended.

"Sure you do," said Waylon, allowing his fingers to trail up Eddie's chest. "You froze up during that one shot. Every time I touched you, you flinched away. And considering tomorrow's scheduled scene…"

Breath caught, but Eddie made no answer.

"I know it's my fault," said Waylon. "I know you're uncomfortable because I'm a guy, but I thought maybe I could show you it's no big deal, no different than touching a female costar, or maybe I'm doing something wrong and you could tell me how to fix it?"

"You…think I dislike your touch?" asked Eddie. Waylon shrugged, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"I mean, every time I touched you, you flinched or jumped away," said Waylon. "Like I had cooties or something."

Eddie caught Waylon's hand with his own and interlocked the tips of their fingers. He moved the hand to his heart, maintaining the touch the entire time. Pressing Waylon's fingers into his shirt.

"I don't dislike your touch," said Eddie, squeezing Waylon's hand on his chest. He held Waylon's eye as they stood, touching casually in the middle of a brothel. "If anything, I was unsettled, because I _did_ like it."

Eddie released Waylon's hand and adjusted his jacket to cover more of his shirt. "Enjoy your evening," said Eddie.

"Wait," said Waylon, bumping into a low standing table, following Eddie. "Stay?" A smile bloomed on his face when Eddie paused and glanced back.

"I'll drive you to the set in the morning," said Eddie, resuming his march out the front door of the brothel.

Waylon Park. Worried that he wasn't good enough. It was because he was a bird with a broken wing. That's why Eddie paid such close attention to Waylon's life. He wanted to help him-to _mentor_ him. Encourage him.

The same story as every costar Eddie became attached to in the past two decades of his work.

That was the only reason Eddie couldn't stop thinking about Waylon Park.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the review Ria'Latsyrc :) Next Chapter: The first time filming a sex scene for the movie.


	7. Chapter 7: Closed Set

**Chapter 7: Closed Set**

Eddie sipped his coffee in the back of his limousine. He glanced at his watch and considered walking back up to the motel. Finally, the door on the second floor opened, and a blur raced out of the room, down the stairs, and straight to the car.

Waylon opened the door himself, not waiting for David. "Sorry sorry," he said as he plopped down onto the bench across the backseat. "I overslept."

"Understandable," said Eddie.

The soft hum of the limousine filled the cabin, and the car lurched. Waylon yawned loudly before slapping a hand over his mouth and blushing.

"Sorry…"

"No need to keep apologizing," said Eddie. "I trust you have fun last night."

Waylon turned and studied Eddie's face, before shrugging. "The guys had a lot of fun. Drinks and dancing. A few might have gone in the back, but you didn't hear it from me." Waylon smirked, and Eddie quirked an eyebrow. "Not me! Were you thinking me?"

"You seem awfully alert for someone who spent a late night at a brothel."

"I wasn't drinking," said Waylon, grinning. "I knew I had to be in top form. For, ya know, today."

Eddie hummed quietly. The conversation faded away, and neither man attempted to revive it. They pulled up into the parking lot of _The Sultry Peach_ and David came around to open Waylon's door first.

"I guess I'll, uh, see you there then," said Waylon, giving a nervous smile before walking toward his designated trailer.

* * *

"Action!"

Eddie slammed against the black velvet bench. He barely noticed. His eyes focused on Waylon.

Waylon's body glistened with oils and glitter, shimmering in the sparse lighting. Eddie felt lost, staring helplessly as Waylon danced against his lap.

It wasn't the first take. More like the twentieth. Dennis continued to change the angles, the lighting, the movement. But no matter how many times they filmed the scene, Eddie remained transfixed.

Waylon faced Eddie and put one leg up on the bench, his foot just outside of Eddie's thigh. He resumed dancing, grinding his groin directly at Eddie's eye level. Waylon wore his shiny costume, and Eddie was back in his jacket and unbuttoned shirt ensemble from the previous day.

During the first shoot, Waylon kept his crotch a respectable distance away, miming the actions enough that it resembled grinding from a certain camera angle. But Dennis was unsatisfied, demanding more takes with each adjustment bringing Waylon closer and closer.

"Y-ya know, you should be in porn," said Eddie, as Felix. "You're wasted here, stripping. You could be a star…"

Waylon rolled his eyes, never ceasing his gyrating hips, metallic briefs glinting in Eddie's eyes. "Lemme guess, if I blow you, you can get me work," he said, as Randall.

"Imma, uh, a-agent," said Eddie, licking his lips as he gazed up at Waylon. Eddie was acting. He wasn't really attracted to Waylon. Felix was attracted to Randall.

"CUT," said Dennis. "Okay, again, but with Eddie stuttering less. Felix convinces Randall that he can get him work. How can anyone believe that when he's stuttering and blushing?"

Eddie fought his discomfort. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Got it."

"Alright, take it again from Felix's line, 'you should be,' and Felix, you're trying to convince this guy that you're a capable manager, not talk him into a pity fuck."

"I'm onto you, Eddie," said Waylon, dropping his voice to a whisper. His mouth quirked as he propped his leg back up on the bench. Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You're making these mistakes on purpose, so I have to keep dancing longer."

Eddie's mouth fell open, but he had no retort. Did others see it that way? Waylon laughed and gave an exaggerated wink. "Just kidding."

"Alright, come on people, this is a closed set, quiet," said Dennis. A hush fell over the few people present for the intimate scene. Waylon's face turned back into that of a concentrating dancer, but Eddie's remained one of nervous determination.

"You should be in porn," said Eddie, as Felix. He moved a hand to Waylon's ankle and allowed his fingers to trail up Waylon's calf, slowly. His skin was soft under a layer of sweat and devoid of all body hair. "You're wasted here, stripping…" Eddie turned his head, pressing his lips to the inside of Waylon's knee. "You could be a star on video…"

Waylon chuckled, rolling his hips in slow, exaggerated movements, bringing his scantily covered groin dangerously close to Eddie's face. "Let me guess, if I blow you, you can get me work," Waylon smirked down at Eddie, "haven't heard that before."

Eddie leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Waylon's bare thigh. Waylon inhaled, sharply, his fluid movements disrupted for a split second. Eddie stared up Waylon's body with dilated blue eyes.

"I'm an agent," said Eddie, before opening his mouth, and dragging his lips across the lump in Waylon's metallic briefs. "And I never made an offer like that to anybody before. You inspire me."

Waylon moaned. Unscripted. It sounded sincere. Eddie mouthed at the front of Waylon's costume. There were modesty briefs, and padding, allowing Waylon some modesty. But Eddie was sure Waylon could feel something through the fabric from the way he was whimpering.

"CUT, okay, just like that, I want to go back to the first angle, that's what I'm talking about, Eddie, great job, you're the seducer now…"

The takes continued, and Eddie's portrayal of Felix became more and more physical. Eddie knew he was convincing because of Waylon. His face flushed bright red, his dialogue spoken in increasingly breathy tones, and the most telling sign of all—the swell in Waylon's costume.

Waylon discreetly adjusted himself to keep his privacy from springing free from his costume. During the last takes, Eddie's mouth rubbed up against an unmistakable hardness.

"Okay, moving on, Waylon push him back and take it from, "watch it, okay, action!"

Eddie sat on the edge of the bench, staring up at Waylon while gripping his thigh. Waylon put his foot down on the ground and pushed both of Eddie's shoulders. He fell back against the bench with a befuddled oof.

"Watch it, mister," said Waylon, bending at the waist to speak close to Eddie's ear. "You're dangerously close to crossing a line."

Both paused as a boom lowered too quickly, and both flinched before the boom raised back out of the frame. Eddie and Waylon shared a brief grin then immediately delved back into their roles.

Waylon climbed onto the bench, thighs straddling Eddie's. He leaned forward to kiss Eddie, lips working in exaggerated movements for the camera. It reminded Eddie of their practice kiss back at his house, the day Waylon had shown up, uninvited.

"More, bigger," said Dennis.

Waylon responded with a loud moan into Eddie's mouth, lips opening wider. A soft gasp escaped Eddie as he allowed Waylon to nip at his bottom lip.

"Tongue," said Dennis. "Get in close, I want close-up tongue shots."

Eddie's tongue pushed into Waylon's mouth, and his fingers on Eddie's shirt went limp as though the kiss had rendered him a boneless mess. He melted into the kiss. Waylon's hands pawed Eddie's shirt, encouraging the motions.

"The camera needs to see the tongue, this isn't your first time, boys, come on," said Dennis.

Waylon pulled away and stuck out his tongue, Eddie followed suit. It was an unnatural sort of kiss, having tongues outside of their mouths, rubbing one another. A parody of a kiss—something seen in porn; not real life. Waylon must have had plenty of experience with those types of kisses.

Eddie sucked Waylon's tongue into his mouth, causing Waylon's entire body to shudder.

"Fuck, Eddie," said Waylon.

"His name is Felix," said Dennis, before giving a long, irritated groan. "Dammit, that was just what I wanted before the slip, still rolling, try again."

"Sorry," said Waylon, obviously flustered. Eddie ignored the flub and continued the dramatic kiss. They tilted their heads in unnatural ways to ensure the camera got the best shots of their intertwining tongues.

Kissing Waylon's wasn't bad. The softness of his lips. The movements of his tongue suggested skills Eddie should not imagine. Waylon's body was warm, despite being near naked, and the noises he made were intoxicating.

The kiss broke and Waylon pressed his forehead tight against Eddie's. "What's your name, mister?" He rolled his body against Eddie's lap as they remained together.

"Felix," said Eddie, pausing to nip at Waylon's lower lip. "Felix Carter."

"You feel like getting your dick wet, Felix Carter?" asked Waylon, his voice dipping several octaves. The stuttering moan from Eddie's lips was only partially acting.

The lighting, the oil, the way Waylon's brown eyes flashed darker than ever. Waylon's gaze was an aggressive challenge. Eddie had an urge to rise and meet it.

Waylon's hands were deft as they reached down and ripped Eddie's shirt open, sending buttons flying in all directions.

"Hell yeah, perfect," said Dennis, from behind the camera. "Great, great shot, did you get it? Perfect, get another shirt on standby, still rolling."

Waylon's hands splayed out across Eddie's chest, and he leaned in to kiss across Eddie's collarbone, and down his chest.

"Bite him," said Dennis.

The next time Waylon's mouth opened, he nipped painfully at Eddie's chest.

"Fuck," said Eddie.

"Not actually bite him, it's called acting," said Dennis.

"Sorry," said Waylon, biting his lip to stop a cheeky grin. He snickered softly before leaning back down. This time his nips were gentle, teeth scraping against heated skin, a tongue tracing a long, slow stripe. Eddie gasped and his stomach trembled as Waylon descended. His body's reactions were genuine.

Waylon undid Eddie's pants and struggled to pull his black belt out of the loops. He took several attempts before Waylon stared into the camera with a pleading look.

"Cut, set it up again, rougher this time," said Dennis.

It was a couple takes until Dennis was satisfied. Waylon roughly pulling out the leather belt, and opened Eddie's pants, sliding down just enough to allow his boxers to show over the top. Eddie delivered a flawless moan.

The camera repositioned to behind Waylon's shoulder focused on Eddie's face. Waylon began to mime the action of bobbing his head up and down on Eddie's lap. It was up to Eddie to sell it with his reactions. He stared down with an open mouth, moaning softly, closing his eyes, dropping his head back.

Eddie grabbed a handful of Waylon's hair and pushed him down. The enthusiasm earned a stifled laugh from Waylon as his face was pushed against Eddie's boxers. Eddie, yelped, releasing Waylon's hair as both hands flew to push his shoulders.

"Cut," said Dennis, with a long-suffering sigh. "It's getting late, we gotta clear out soon, please, just, focus on your micro-expressions. I need to believe that Felix is getting blown right now. Come on, Eddie, show us your 'O' face."

Eddie muttered and snapped back into the moment. He barely noticed the call to action. Eddie stared down at Waylon with lidded eyes.

Waylon continued his mimed actions, leaning closer. His lips nipped at the front of Eddie's boxers. The reaction was immediate. Eddie groaned and reached around to hold Waylon's head again. This time he held him firmly, nails scraping against the back of Waylon's skull as Eddie watched licking his lips.

"Much better, more reactions like that," said Dennis.

Waylon looked up from Eddie's lap, and smirked. He continued to nuzzle his nose and mouth into Eddie's boxers where the camera couldn't see. Eddie suddenly found it difficult to sit still. His hips flew off the bench, as he pushed Waylon's head down. Heat returned in the form of Waylon breathing against the front of Eddie's underwear. His moan was obscene.

Eddie conjured up an imagine in his mind. No modesty briefs between them. How hot and wet Waylon's mouth would feel. The mouth currently hanging open as Waylon stared up Eddie's body.

There were several camera repositions, lighting adjustments, and even a makeup retouch necessary because of how sweaty they both became. No matter how significant the disruption, when the cameras started, Waylon and Eddie easily resumed rubbing, touching, and panting.

Annoyance flared at exactly how pleased Waylon looked. No doubt because of the tent in Eddie's underwear. Or the wet spot forming near where the heat of his cock rubbed into the fabric. Waylon's tongue extended to rub directly onto that wet spot, dragging across the blunt head of Eddie's cock.

Without prompting, Eddie cried out, hands grasping the edge of the bench for support.

"Cut," said Dennis, clapping his hands once. "Okay, that was hot. Is it hot in here? I'm feeling warm. Great job, you two. That's it for today, I think we got this scene, bravo. We pick up here tomorrow for the big climax," Dennis paused as a few crew members groaned, "bad joke, sorry, alright, get the cameras outside, we need to get some outdoor shots with the sunset."

Eddie stood up, and quickly adjusted his pants. He tucked his erection up to minimize the effect and fixed his pants and belt back into place. Waylon stood up and made no similar movements to hide his own arousal. The tip of his cock peeked over the edge of the metallic briefs, ruddy and wet.

No. Eddie can't stare at that. Needed to scrub it from his memory. Waylon was quick to accept a thin, white robe from an assistant.

"Thank you, Dennis," said Eddie, straightening his back. "Good job, everyone. Thanks for your hard work."

Eddie walked off set, some crew members returning his sentiments. Only the most necessary crew members were allowed on set during the intimate scene. It comforted Eddie that only a handful of people had witnessed him panting and moaning under Waylon. Though the whole world would, soon enough, when the movie was released.

"Uh, thanks, and stuff," said Waylon, tying his robe as he rushed after Eddie. The knot hung sloppy and crooked in front of his robe. He caught up with Eddie in the hallway outside of the club's back room.

"Eddie, hey, good job," said Waylon.

"Likewise," said Eddie, not bothering to turn around. He pushed the door marked "Exit Only" and walked out of the strip club and toward his trailer.

"Hey, um, you want some help?" asked Waylon.

Eddie stopped short, turned around, and leveled a profoundly confused glare at Waylon. "Help?"

"Yeah like, do you want me to come back to your trailer?" asked Waylon, staring into Eddie's eyes as if this was a common thing to say to another actor.

"I prefer to be alone in my trailer," said Eddie. "If you'll excuse…"

"No, I mean, I know, no one's allowed in there unless you ask, whatever, but, I mean," Waylon leaned in close, and lowered his voice, "you're hard."

Eddie's eyes flew wide, and he stood, scandalized.

"It was, ya know, kinda hard to miss, from where I was uh, kneeling," said Waylon, when Eddie continued to stare in silent outrage. "It's okay, I'm not upset or anything, I'm hard, too."

"It's a sign of good acting if the scene was titillating. The arousal is an indicator of good acting abilities that will translate appropriately to the audience…"

"Uh, yeah, sure, but I was meaning like, maybe we could help each other out with this predicament?" Waylon's blush extended beyond his cheeks his neck and the V of his chest left exposed by the robe. "Lend each other a hand?" Waylon used his hand to gesture so there would be no mistaking his meaning.

Eddie's throat bobbed as he swallowed and leaned in closer to Waylon's ear. "I'm going to walk away now, and pretend we never had this conversation."

"Oh," said Waylon, chuckling awkwardly at himself. "Yeah, cool, I'll just go take care of this myself." Waylon walked around Eddie, and straight toward his own trailer.

Eddie stared at Waylon walking away, apparently unperturbed about the fact that he was wearing only a robe in a public parking lot. Waylon turned around and caught Eddie watching before he could look away. Waylon grinned and waved.

"If this trailer's rockin' right?" called Waylon, grinning.

Eddie quickly walked toward his own trailer, slamming the thin metal door safely behind himself.

* * *

"Some of the guys are walking next door again, you in?" asked Keith. He was one of the dancers, so tall Waylon had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. Keith had the musculature of a Grecian statue, dark skin, and a bright smile.

"Nah, thanks, I was really tired this morning, need to make sure I get enough sleep," said Waylon.

"Won't be the same without you," said Keith, winking.

Waylon stood in the parking lot of _The Sultry Peach_ , watching Keith walk to join the rest of the dancers. Waylon leaned against the outside of the club in comfy clothes, trying to keep an eye on Eddie's trailer door without looking like a total creep.

As soon as the door opened, Waylon's face lit up. He waved until he caught Eddie's eye. He looked refreshed in a clean gray shirt over black slacks. Waylon couldn't stop the smile that naturally appeared anytime Eddie looked his way.

"Eddie," said Waylon, adopting a strange half-skip to catch up as Eddie walked toward his limousine in the parking lot. "Dude, I'm so sorry about earlier, there wasn't a lot of blood left in my brain after that scene, you know what I mean? Hope you're not pissed at me."

"Nothing to worry about," said Eddie, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and his strides long.

"Are you sure?" asked Waylon, struggling to keep up. He finally had to stop, limping slightly as he watched the distance between them grow.

"I thought we agreed that conversation never happened?" Eddie glanced to his side and noticed Waylon's absence.

"Don't worry, I'll catch up, err, that is, if you don't mind giving me a ride, still?"

Eddie sighed, slowing down until his steps matched with Waylon's limping. He put a strong arm around Waylon's back and allowed him to lean into his side.

"What happened?" asked Eddie.

"Nothing big," said Waylon, chuckling. "Holding that position all afternoon for the private dance scene, my groin's just feeling kind of sore."

"You injured yourself on set?" asked Eddie. "You're sure it wasn't your activities after the shoot?"

"My inner thigh is hurting, not my dick," said Waylon. Eddie stumbled at the crass language, and Waylon couldn't help laughing. "Sorry."

"No apology necessary," said Eddie. "You should ice it, tonight, and get some rest. I would hate to delay any of the shooting. A day extra in this mangy place, and I may lose my sanity."

"This must all be so horrible for you," said Waylon, exhaling through his nose. "Staying in this shit hole. Shooting these raunchy scenes with someone like me."

"I told you last night," said Eddie, his arm tightening around Waylon, "I don't dislike working with you. Today's scene was…intense. You handled it well."

David materialized around the side of the limousine and held the door open for both of them. Eddie sat down first and helped Waylon down onto the bench seat in the back. The door slammed closed behind them, leaving them alone in the dim car.

Waylon kept quiet. He flicked his finger at the lock mechanism of the door, instead of talking about more embarrassing shit. He had hoped that apologizing would make him feel better, but instead, things only seemed more awkward. He never knew when to keep his fucking mouth shut.

"Is something the matter?" asked Eddie. "Is it your injury?"

"What? Oh, no," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. "It's not a big deal, don't worry about it."

Eddie leaned into Waylon's side. "I've said it before, but I am genuinely impressed with your acting abilities." When Waylon turned his head, he met concerned blue eyes. "I'm proud to be working with you."

"Thank you, Eddie," said Waylon, sighing.

Fuck. He was going to jerk off again, he already knew it. He was going to spend all night in his motel bed, beating his dick and thinking about Eddie's teeth on his thigh. Waylon's spank bank overfloweth.

The remainder of the ride was silent. Eddie kept his eyes trained out the window, and Waylon stared down at the limousine's interior. Not very interesting.

Back at the motel, Eddie helped Waylon with the stairs and walked him safely to his room. Waylon leaned into Eddie's side, wrapping one arm loosely around him.

Waylon was trying to be good, but he couldn't be expected not to get in some innocent touches when it was allowed. Invited, even. Desired?

"Thanks, you're the best," said Waylon, smiling.

Eddie nodded, disentangling himself, before walking to his own room next door. Waylon groaned and hit his head loudly against his own door.

Stupid. Why was he so stupid?

Was it not enough that his childhood idol, teenage crush, and acting role model was encouraging him? Mentoring him? That Eddie was friendly to him and treated him with respect?

And what right did a lowlife like Waylon even have to wish for more than that? It was already more than he deserved.

Waylon opened the door and almost tripped on a strange duffel bag.

"Uh…what tha?"

"About time," came a familiar voice.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Waylon.

"You see the article?" asked Miles, grinning.

"Yeah," said Waylon, sulking. He limped over to his bed and sat down on the scratchy comforter. Miles had already made himself at home on the other double bed, sprawled out in dark jeans and a blue plaid shirt. "How did you even get in here?"

"I told the front desk my name was Waylon Park, and that I was a huge slut, and that my room key fell out of my thong in a truck stop bathroom while I was blowing some dude."

"And that worked? Jesus Christ, there is no security in this place…"

"Security, look who's big time," said Miles, snickering to himself. He sat up, rubbing his hands together. "So, what's the word? What's the dirt? What's going on? You gotta give me something, we got bills waiting back at the house."

"There is no dirt, I told you after Trager's, I'm not gonna get my career started if scandals and rumors follow me around, I won't help you…"

"That's fine," said Miles, grinning. "I can just run that story." Miles held up his fingers, framing an imaginary headline. "Road Head: Eddie Gluskin and his male co-star share a sex-fueled ride home…"

"That's not what happened," snapped Waylon.

"No one gives a shit," said Miles.

Waylon leaned over toward the nightstand between the two beds and picked up Miles' phone. "I'm gonna delete that photo."

"It's on the Cloud, muffintop," said Miles, grinning. "Besides, you don't know my code."

Waylon effortlessly unlocked Miles' phone and began sifting through his recent camera images. Selfies of Miles wearing sunglasses and staring away from the camera. A dick pic. Plenty of photographs from Trager's that night, but the incriminating photo was missing.

"How'd you do that?" asked Miles, sitting up and grabbing for his phone.

"Your code is 6969, real mature," said Waylon.

"Doesn't matter," said Miles, laying back down on the bed, and stretching out. "Like I said, it's in the Cloud. The only thing keeping me from running that story, and receiving a fuck ton of cash and praise, is my loyalty to you. And your continued cooperation with getting me stories…"

"Fine," said Waylon, sighing. "Um, we're shooting at a strip club, and there's a brothel next door. Some of the crew went there last night. Some went back today. They're probably there right now."

"You sure?" asked Miles, jolting upright.

"Yeah, I'm sure, I was there last night, I turned them down tonight," said Waylon.

"I gotta get to this place," said Miles, shoving his hand through his hair. "Did Gluskin show up?"

"Nah," said Waylon, shrugging. "Not his scene."

"Still worth a look," said Miles, waggling his eyebrows. He stood up from the bed, grabbed his phone, and another slim digital camera, and started toward the door. "You coming?"

"Nah, I'm too sore from today, and I gotta get up and do it again tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," said Miles, shrugging before walking outside. The door shut, and Waylon heard the echo of Miles' footsteps in the breezeway. Then, Miles' voice drifted from down the way. "Oh, hey, wow, big fan! Can I get a picture?!"

Waylon cringed and tweaked his groin in an attempt to stand up too quickly.

"Just amazing to meet you, loved Outlast man, great flick, keep up the great work," said Miles.

A soft knock on Waylon's door. Waylon hobbled over and peered through the cloudy peephole. Eddie Gluskin stood in the breezeway, holding a bucket of ice. Waylon took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Eddie," said Waylon, trying, and failing, to keep it from sounding like a whispered devotion.

"Ice," said Eddie.

"Y-you brought me ice?" asked Waylon, his voice catching in his throat. "That's…that's so thoughtful of you."

"May I come in?" asked Eddie. Somehow, Eddie had found time to change into relaxed, black slacks and a plain gray T-shirt. Holy shit, it was hot.

Waylon nodded quickly and motioned with his hand for Eddie to enter. His heart jumped into his throat and he worried he might choke if he attempted conversation. The door closed, too loudly, behind them.

"If you didn't have any other plans, I thought maybe we could talk," said Eddie, staring at the two beds, both in various stages of being unmade, and the different luggage. "You seemed distressed, earlier in the car. I know tomorrow we have to finish our intimate scene, and I thought it would not bode well to allow any issues to fester between us."

"Oh," said Waylon, blushing. "Sorry, fuck, I made it an issue, didn't I? Sorry, I know I was out of line, acting like a horny teenager, and afterward, I guess I just felt, self-conscious."

"It's your first major role in a movie, well, a feature film," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "I assumed, due to your previous projects, that you wouldn't have a problem with this type of scene."

"Oh, I don't have trouble getting naked, or performing, but I'm not really used to the scene ending without getting some kind of relief," said Waylon, snickering. "Know what I mean?"

Eddie frowned. "I can make some educated guesses."

Waylon grinned. "You're so uncomfortable talking about porn." Waylon hobbled to sit on his bed and patted the comforter beside him. "It's okay, you know? Everyone watches porn sometimes…"

"I don't," said Eddie, sitting down stiffly, as though afraid to touch more of the comforter than absolutely necessary.

"Really?" asked Waylon, ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest. So much for that fantasy that Eddie Gluskin might have already seen some of his work, and enjoyed himself.

"I had some bad experiences in the past," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "I suppose porn is fine when you go into the scene knowing…"

"Oh," said Waylon, turning to meet Eddie's eyes, "your video that leaked? I mean, that's different than porn, that was, well, a crime first off, but the videos where I performed…"

"I intended no disrespect, I know your previous work required considerable skill…"

"It's okay, I know it's different," said Waylon, grinning. "I'm not trying to pretend my dozens of porn videos are major motion pictures. I mean, I didn't know it all the time, but all that work perfectly prepared me for this role. I like to think these things happen for a reason."

"Lovely sentiment," said Eddie, nodding.

"You disagree?" asked Waylon.

Eddie stared down at the ice in the bucket he held. "You should use this before it melts."

"Good idea," said Waylon. Eddie had brought a motel washcloth and a plastic bag to assist with the DIY ice pack.

While Eddie assembled the ice pack, Waylon shimmied out of his navy track pants, leaving him in black boxer briefs. Eddie turned around with his completed ice pack and frowned. Waylon took the pack without missing a beat.

"Thanks," said Waylon, sitting with his back against the headboard. He leaned back, keeping his legs spread wide. He pressed the cool cloth against his bare thigh and sighed.

"How's that?" asked Eddie, standing beside the bed.

"You're handy," said Waylon.

"I've pulled my groin several times on productions," said Eddie, chuckling. "Never know what kind of strange position you need to be in for the director to get a shot."

"I'm sure it's just a minor thing, probably just overworked, dancing that long," said Waylon, adjusting the pack in his hand. "Should be fine in the morning."

"I hope so," said Eddie, sighing. "I can't wait to get back to LA."

"Still a few days out from that," said Waylon, grinning.

"As long as everything goes according to schedule, tomorrow is my last day here," said Eddie, turning to stare in the direction of the tiny bathroom. "I'm traveling to Hong Kong for interviews and press meetings. Apparently, _The Seven Rings of Europa_ did great in Asia."

"That's awesome," said Waylon, face lighting up. "That movie wasn't as bad as the critics were saying, fucking idiots, I knew you were already on your way back up to the top."

"It's millions away from breaking even, considering the budget," said Eddie, shrugging. "Hardly my fault."

"Nah, you did great in that movie," said Waylon, sighing dreamily, and pressing the cold compress harder against his thigh. "I really liked that space uniform you had to wear. You looked so fucking sexy."

Eddie chuckled, diverting his eyes. "Too bad Felix only wears cheap suits."

"Mmm, I like Felix, no matter what he's wearing," said Waylon, grinning.

"Randall likes Felix," said Eddie, as though correcting a toddler.

"Sure, but I like him, too," said Waylon. "He's loyal and aggressive, and he looks just like Eddie Gluskin."

Eddie's ears turned bright pink, and Waylon's smile turned wicked. Eddie looked back and seemed to notice Waylon's spread crotch first. Interesting.

"Are you blushing?" Waylon smirked, making a show of dragging the pack even further up his thigh, pushing the cotton leg of his boxer briefs up higher. "You had your mouth on my crotch earlier, but now you're shy?"

"I should get back to my room. I need a shower. I think most of your body oil rubbed off on me, earlier."

Waylon chuffed softly, "I'd say I'm sorry, but…I'm not."

Eddie paused at the door, eyes moving slowly as they took in the room and Waylon on the bed. "Drive you in the morning?"

"Thank you," said Waylon, waving from the bed with the hand not clutching the ice pack.

Eddie walked out of the room, shutting the door behind hi. Waylon collapsed back onto the mattress.

Why was he incapable of not harassing this kind, patient man?

* * *

It was pitch black in the room when Waylon heard clicking at the door. Light from the parking lot filtered in through the crack as a black silhouetted figure entered the room. Waylon sat up and fumbled for his phone.

"Miles? Fuck, what time is…"

"Sorry," said Miles, his tone not sorry at all. He made his way over to the other bed and kicked his shoes off against the wall with a bang. Waylon buried his head in his pillow instead of watching as Miles removed the remainder of his clothing.

"Did you go to the brothel?" asked Waylon, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Oh yeah," said Miles, whistling happily in the dark.

"You found a story, I can tell by the way you're acting," muttered Waylon, lifting his head up slowly.

"Oh, I found a story, alright," said Miles, chuckling to himself. The bed jumped as Miles dropped down on Waylon's bed and began forcing his way under the covers.

"Are you going to tell me?" asked Waylon.

"Nope," said Miles, sliding both arms around Waylon's body and pulling him close, spooning around him. Waylon allowed it, despite the fact that Miles reeked of cigarettes and sweat.

"You're a bastard," said Waylon, sighing. Miles clung tighter to Waylon and nuzzled his head into Waylon's curls. They both settled into even breathing.

"Everyone says you're doing really well," said Miles, voice already drowsy and ending in a long yawn. "You're full of so many surprises, you know that?"

Waylon smiled without opening his eyes. "Thanks, Miles."

* * *

A/N: Thanks Ria'Latsyrc! Still plugging along here, next chapter we finish up this scene and things reach that boiling point ;) ;)


	8. Chapter 8: Unprofessional

**Chapter 8: Unprofessional**

Waylon's injury was barely noticeable the next morning as he limped down to the limousine. David opened the door, and Waylon dropped inside with a heavy sigh.

"Another day at the office," said Waylon, his grin obnoxiously big for being so early.

Eddie frowned. "You're still limping."

"Eh, it's nothing," said Waylon, chuckling. He scooted closer to Eddie on the bench seat. "You ready for today?"

"I'm always prepared when I walk on set," said Eddie, matter-of-fact.

"I know, but, today's when, ya know, the sex scene?"

"Yesterday's scene was rather provocative," said Eddie.

"Well, yeah, but, sorry, I guess I'm kind of excited—err, nervous," said Waylon, laughing at his slip up. "I thought about it, and this is going to be the first time I filmed a sex scene without no money shot."

Eddie grumbled, and shifted away from Waylon, leaning into the car door. "Scenes like this are expected, but it's no different than an action sequence, or an emotional scene. It's all work for me."

"So you don't enjoy it?" asked Waylon.

"If I did not enjoy acting, I would have quit long ago," said Eddie.

"You're exhausting," said Waylon, exhaling long and hard.

"Pardon?"

"Exhausting," he repeated, shaking his head. "You're avoiding the question." Eddie raised an eyebrow at Waylon. "Don't look at me like that, you know damn well what I'm asking, but you avoid the question."

"Because it's unprofessional," said Eddie. "The script dictates what we show, the director chooses how to portray, the editors cut it into a workable product, the producers throw a fit if they don't like it. It's our job to perform the parts to their liking."

"So you don't like getting hard? Don't like rubbing on attractive people? You aren't the same Eddie Gluskin who has fallen for almost every romantic lead you've ever encountered in your storied career?"

Eddie turned to look out the window.

"Because I'm a guy, it's weird, right?"

"I do not mind who another person chooses to take into their bed," said Eddie.

"Then what's the problem with admitting that you get excited with me grinding on you? That you got hard—that it felt good? I promise you, I won't be offended."

"Why would you be offended?"

The limousine had stopped outside _The Sultry Peach_ , and David approached the door.

"Like I said, exhausting," said Waylon, chuckling. "For the record, I find the entire situation extremely arousing, and I can't wait to grind against your ass today, and sorry if that's unprofessional."

The door snapped open and Eddie exited quicker than usual.

* * *

Eddie's wardrobe was identical to the day before. The crew had gone so far as to rumple the pants and jacket, leave the shirt ripped open, and withheld the belt. The scene was a continuation of the initial backroom scene.

There were even fewer people than the previous day, and security guards stationed outside to keep away any unapproved gawkers.

Eddie entered the back room and saw Dennis speaking to a man dressed in Felix's wardrobe, identical to his own. Eddie walked up to greet him.

"Vince," said Eddie, smiling. "Good to see you again."

"I know you missed this ass," said Vince, slapping his hand into Eddie's for a handshake.

"Okay, so I'm thinking we'll get as many shots as possible with Eddie," said Dennis, holding up his hands as he spoke. "The focus of this scene isn't nudity, it's how rushed and desperate everything feels. I need Felix's reactions, then Vince doing some body shots..."

"Not a bad day's work," said Vince, grinning.

"What tha…"

Eddie and Vince turned, perfectly in sync, to see Waylon walk into the area, already dressed in his baby oil and metallic briefs.

"I swear I had this dream before…" said Waylon.

"This is Vince," said Eddie, grinning. "He's my body double for the nude scenes. We've worked together before…"

"Y-you're not doing your own nude scenes?" asked Waylon.

Vince and Eddie laughed in unison, eerily similar.

"It's normal practice, for an actor to use a body double," said Vince.

"Yeah, but Eddie doesn't, I've seen him get naked in other roles," said Waylon.

"Well, this particular role is...different."

"Because it's a gay sex scene," said Waylon.

"We got a problem?" asked Dennis, intruding on the awkward stand-off. "Because, I got this movie to shoot, and I need you two up on that dirty strip club bench, pronto…"

No matter how many love scenes Eddie filmed, he was always struck by the strangeness. The out of body feeling of putting his physical self into an intimate situation while keeping his thoughts on the job. It's fake. Pretend.

And there are a dozen people watching his every move while looking bored.

It's a small miracle when love scenes manage to look authentic. There was usually nothing romantic about them.

Eddie and Waylon assumed their positions. Eddie sat on the bench; Waylon got down on his knees. They waited through makeup touch-ups, boom adjustments, lighting tests, and crew members tiptoeing in and out, trying not to stare.

Waylon seemed oddly focused, ignoring all of the distractions, and only looking up at Eddie.

"Are you nervous?" asked Eddie.

"Nah," Waylon answered, quickly. His intense stare never wavered. Eddie felt strange. He shifted his eyes to meet Waylon's, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Brown eyes, darker due to blown pupils. Those eyes were much too wide and innocent to belong to someone as sinful as Waylon Park. Their stare remained connected when Waylon leaned in closer, still kneeling between Eddie's legs, and whispered, "Are _you_ nervous?"

Eddie swallowed with some difficulty, instead of answering.

"Okay, people, take it from the top of the scene," said Dennis, grabbing the camera. "Waylon, give me a few good seconds of bobbing if you need a lead in, then move into Eddie's first line," said Dennis, glaring around the room to shush all the remaining crew, "c'mon, quiet now. Action!"

Waylon continued to stare into Eddie's eyes as he mimed the actions of oral sex. He licked his lips, noisily, to simulate the sloppy wet sounds, though it was unnecessary. Sound effects would be added in post-production. Still. Eddie couldn't tear his eyes away from that wet mouth. Those dark eyes.

"Alright, second position," Dennis' voice was somewhere far away. Like staring off into space during a lecture-still hearing the speaker's voice, without really listening.

Eddie moaned softly, biting his lower lip, and gripping the edge of the bench. After a few moments, Waylon pursed his lips together, creating a completely unnecessary wet, popping noise. Surely, that was too obscene to make the final cut.

Waylon pushed his hands against Eddie's thighs and used the leverage to push himself up, straddling Eddie's lap. He arched as he moved, keeping their bodies in contact the entire time.

"I'm serious," said Eddie, as Felix. "I got a studio, I got equipment, I can get a director here _this_ weekend," he paused, interrupted by Waylon's face getting uncomfortably close, "let's make a movie."

Waylon chuckled, nuzzling his nose against Eddie's cheek. "You really don't need to keep sweet talking me," he said, as Randall, "I was already gonna let you fuck me."

"That's not what I want," said Eddie, leaning in to bite Waylon's lower lip, pulling back until it sprang free. "Lemme be your manager."

"You're cute," said Waylon, leaning in to press his lips to Eddie's. The kiss lasted a long second, a slip of tongue visible, and the end result left Eddie panting. "You really want that? You wanna help me? Be my manager?"

Eddie's response was a broken, pitiful moan.

Waylon giggled, grinding his covered groin against Eddie's. "Does that mean you're not gonna fuck me?"

Eddie's hand came up behind Waylon's neck, pushing until their foreheads touched and eyes locked, "I'd rather you fuck me."

"R-really?" asked Waylon, face lighting up as he pulled away slightly. Eddie's face remained serious and silent. "Yes! Yes, please…"

Eddie nodded, and Waylon rushed in to kiss him again, grabbing Eddie's face with both hands, squishing their noses together. The kiss dragged on forever in Eddie's mind. The only sound on the tiny set was their panting and wet lips smacking apart.

"Alright, flip him over," said Dennis.

Waylon pushed Eddie's shoulder, prompting him to turn around to grip the back of the bench. Eddie stared at the bench, then turned to give a confused look at the camera.

"Cut," said Dennis. "Eddie, you lost?"

"Sorry, this bench is rather awkward," said Eddie, cheeks flushed.

"You need to be more like this," said Waylon, stepping away from behind Eddie to lean into the bench. He demonstrated by arching his back and sticking his scantily covered ass into the air. Waylon's knees rested on the cushion, and his hands gripped the back.

Eddie took note, then copied the position. "Like this?" he asked.

"Stick your ass out more," said Waylon.

"I don't feel like Felix is the kind of man to pose that provocatively," said Eddie, frowning.

"Felix is the kind of guy that begs a stripper to fuck him, why wouldn't he want to tantalize said stripper with a little preview?" asked Waylon.

"Because he's more reserved about it," said Eddie, directing his frown at Waylon. "He's recently divorced; recently out of the closet. He knows what he likes, and isn't ashamed to ask for it, but he's not to the point of…shaking his ass like a pornstar. That's Randy."

Waylon frowned, cheeks crimson under the lighting.

"Get back in original position, and flip him over again, come on, places you two," said Dennis. He was momentarily distracted by the repositioning of a camera. Waylon seized the opportunity to lean closer to Eddie's ear.

"If Felix would go so far as to ask, point blank, for a cock in his ass, he's definitely not above putting it on display," said Waylon.

Eddie turned his head away, difficult considering their close position.

"Action!"

Waylon pushed Eddie's shoulders, much rougher than before. Eddie half-fell into position, crawling his knees up on the bench and gripping the back. He looked over his shoulder, at Waylon, who cocked a single eyebrow. Eddie took a deep breath, then faced away, and arched his back.

The groan from Waylon jolted Eddie. Hands grasped his hips, followed by the rub of those metallic briefs against his ass.

And that wasn't all.

The start of an erection pressed into Eddie, feeling thicker by the second. Eddie failed to stifle a shudder. His body trembled and he stared just to the left one of the cameras with eyes closed and mouth open.

Waylon hunched over and pushed his hips into Eddie. "C'mon Eddie," Waylon breathed against his neck, "It'll play better if you at least try to want it a little."

"Thrust larger, exaggerate it," said Dennis.

Waylon responded with a different, rolling movement. He continued to switch up the motion and tempo. Eddie felt Waylon growing hard. Every movement, Waylon's cock slid along the crack of Eddie's ass through his boxers.

Professional. Eddie had to keep the scene professional. He was Felix. The camera was at an angle where it was not necessary for actual contact between their bodies. Still. Eddie appreciated the authenticity of Waylon's performance.

Eddie pushed back, turning to glare down at his clenched hands. The response was Waylon draping over his body, and a hand snaking around Eddie's thigh.

When Eddie looked back, Waylon was grinning. Eddie released the back of the bench with one hand and grabbed Waylon's jaw. He had to crane his neck, and twist his back into an unnatural position, but the end result was a hot kiss. Waylon's tongue breached his mouth as their bodies rubbed against one another.

The hand between them was difficult to ignore. It added a realism to the scene, Eddie thought. Except then Waylon's hand groped the front of his boxers and pawed at Eddie's own growing interest.

When had he grown so hard? Knowing Waylon was aroused should have been a turn-off. Instead, Eddie couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so desperate. Fingers wrapped around him through his boxers, squeezing gently.

Eddie bucked his hips, and Waylon rammed forward harder than before. Waylon kissed Eddie's back through his jacket. It was barely detectable-gentle.

"Let's get the lines, guys," said Dennis.

Waylon's chin perched on Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie looked back out of the side of his eyes. There was sweat obvious across Waylon's face.

"Still wanna be my manager?" asked Waylon, between panting breaths.

Eddie's mind was a blank. "Um, uh-huh…"

"Uh huh? Can someone get Eddie a fucking line, please," said Dennis.

Waylon broke character and laughed beside Eddie's ear. "This is really hot," he whispered, squeezing hard on Eddie's crotch through the fabric. Eddie gasped at the violation. "You like it?"

"More than anything," came the line, read by an assistant from behind a lighting rig.

"F-fuck," said Eddie, turning his face away from Waylon.

"Okay, go again, Waylon, lead in with your last line again," said Dennis, before the clapperboard sounded.

"You really wanna be my manager?" asked Waylon, breath hot against the shell of Eddie's ear.

"More than anything," growled Eddie.

Waylon stood firm, grabbed Eddie's hips, and redirected all his attention to snapping his hips against Eddie's ass.

"Oh God," moaned Waylon, off script. He grunted—whined. Eddie ached for the friction on his dick. The synthetic orgasm noises were dizzying. Eddie's grip on the back of the bench increased until his knuckles ached.

Dennis experimented with different angles and direction. He asked for Eddie to look euphoric, then nervous, then battling internally over whether he should be enjoying the situation. That one was easy for Eddie to portray. The takes continued in the cramped set with the crew staring on, losing interest once the novelty of watching them hump one another had passed.

Without warning, Waylon dug his fingers into Eddie's hips, and cried out. A whining, desperate sound ripped from his throat, and Eddie felt Waylon's entire body tremble against his back. Eddie found the imitation impressive, until an unmistakable wetness rubbed against his boxers.

Waylon panted, bending over Eddie, pushing sweaty curls away from his forehead.

"You got yourself a client, Mister Manager…"

"Call me Felix."

"CUT," said Dennis. "Okay, holy shit, that was good, did we get it? All cameras? We got it, how are the close ups? Are we all happy? Let's get Vince in here, we're ready for some nudity…"

"Recess?" asked Waylon, holding up his hand. "Can I get a recess? Short break? Sorry."

Eddie stood up and adjusted himself, keeping his gaze down to avoid notice. He knew why Waylon needed a recess. Costume change. Eddie dared a look at Waylon. He looked sweaty, flushed, and glassy eyed. Positively wrecked.

"Okay, twenty minutes, back on set," said Dennis, before turning to address another crew member.

Waylon accepted his robe from an assistant, and rushed toward the exit. The robe was left open, billowing behind him. Eddie followed.

"Waylon," said Eddie, calling while attempting to match Waylon's speed. It was difficult because of his persistent erection. Waylon walked so fast it was practically a jog. He opened the door out of the club, and rushed outside into the blinding, desert sun.

"Waylon," Eddie said, louder. When Waylon still refused to stop, Eddie growled and broke into a proper sprint. He caught up just as Waylon reached the door of his small trailer. Eddie pushed his entire weight against Waylon's back, pinning him in place.

"I'm sorry," said Waylon. Eddie pushed Waylon's shoulder until they were face to face. Eddie's forehead creased as he studied Waylon's face, wet with tears. "I'm sorry. You hate me now."

"You took it too far," said Eddie. Waylon flinched, then nodded.

"I couldn't help myself," said Waylon, bringing a fist to his mouth and biting down. "Ugh, I can't talk to you right now."

"Too bad," said Eddie, opening the trailer door, and pushing Waylon inside.

Eddie followed up the two short, metal steps and into the main cabin of the portable trailer. The trailer was much smaller than Eddie's, but not as small as the special trailers that housed several different tiny rooms for other minor actors.

All the furniture was built into the walls. An plastic cushioned couch, a table and bench seats, and a long counter that was closest to the door. Eddie's large frame, combined with the clutter and clothing, led for an almost claustrophobic feeling.

"It won't happen again, I'm sorry, I'll resign from the picture if you want, we don't have to do any more hands on scenes, I'll talk to Dennis, I'll say it's my fault, just please, don't hurt me…"

"Hurt you?" asked Eddie, frowning.

It gave Eddie pause, and he tried to determine what he actually was doing. Following Waylon into his trailer? Scaring him somehow.

"I just got too excited, that's all, it doesn't mean anything about you," said Waylon, sniffing.

"I'm not _angry_ ," said Eddie, stilling his hands to keep from reaching to wipe Waylon's tears. "You worried me, when you ran…"

Waylon hiccuped, fighting to regain his composure, as he stared at Eddie, mouth falling open.

"I didn't want you to feel embarrassed, or to have it impact the rest of our scenes…"

"I...I blew a load in my panties while grinding on you, you _should_ be furious," said Waylon.

"I've heard of these things happening before," said Eddie, leveling a dark stare at Waylon. "I'm not angry," he paused to wet his lips with an obvious roll of his tongue. "Don't blame yourself, I was equally affected, and I let it go on, and I don't…I should go."

"Wait," said Waylon, staring hard at Eddie's mouth. He stepped forward in the cramped trailer and pushed his palms under Eddie's torn open shirt. "You were affected, too?"

Eddie shook his head, because he wasn't _truly_ affected. It was acting. Waylon's hands jumped from beneath his shirt, to pressing against his crotch. He gasped as his fingers molded around Eddie's outlined cock through his pants.

"Fuck, you're even bigger than I thought," said Waylon, deft hands quickly working Eddie's already undone pants to his thighs, along with his boxers.

Eddie's hard cock sprung free from the waistband and slapped against his lower stomach. He followed the line of Waylon's eyes, directly to his ruddy erection. Waylon stared with reverence, fingers reaching out but refusing to touch.

"Let me?" asked Waylon, in a tiny voice. He had to choke off a strange noise and swallow loudly. "Let me help? It's the least I can do…"

 _No, absolutely not_ , is exactly what Eddie _should_ have said. Instead, he stared with his mouth open and panting. He met dark eyes and the conversation exchanged was completely silent, until Waylon exhaled and wrapped his fingers firmly around Eddie's cock.

Waylon pushed his hand up slowly, swiping his thumb across the head, picking up moisture, and smearing it back down. Eddie stared at the trailer door, suddenly paranoid.

 _Unprofessional_ was the first word that sprang to mind. He immediately questioned it, though, because what Waylon was doing to his dick felt a little too practiced. Eddie didn't want to think about that—didn't want to think about anything. He closed his eyes and bucked into Waylon's grasping fingers.

"Fuck," said Eddie, gasping for air. It was too late. He couldn't open that door and escape, not with his pants out and his dick leaking. Eddie reached a rough hand into Waylon's curls and pulled his head back until their eyes met. "Help me."

Not a plea-a command. As soon as it was issued, Waylon was on his knees. He wasted no time nuzzling his face against Eddie's hard cock, dragging his tongue along the underside, and guiding him into his waiting mouth. He looked up at Eddie, one last time. Afraid Eddie might change his mind?

The answer was a dark glare, and a firm hand pushing the back of Waylon's head.

Not that Waylon needed the encouragement. Waylon swallowed Eddie's cock like he'd been training for it as a sporting event. He stared up with dark, lidded eyes, easily taking Eddie to the back of his throat, sucking him down.

"You like sucking cock?" asked Eddie, mouth open. He watched the hypnotizing rhythm and listened to the fascinating crackle and slide of Waylon working him.

Waylon's response was a moan that vibrated around Eddie. The wet suction was good, but the lost look in Waylon's eyes was better. Eddie couldn't remember a time when someone had been this excited to please him. He pushed his hips forward, quick enough to gag Waylon, who pulled off with an audible pop.

"Wanted to taste you so bad," Waylon's lips moved against Eddie's spit-slick skin before he licked a stripe from base to crown, "Been dreaming about choking on your cock for as long as I knew what that meant."

Eddie should stop. He closed his eyes, and dropped his head back. He should stop it. Not because Waylon was a man—because he was a young, impressionable actor. Someone who looked up to Eddie. And not the literal way he looked up at that moment, pupils blown and lips stretched around Eddie's cock.

Eddie was taking advantage. He fisted his hand in Waylon's curly hair, pushing his hips forward with enough force to breach Waylon's throat. Instead of protesting, Waylon swallowed around the intrusion, milking a groan out of Eddie.

When Waylon pulled away, gasping and drooling out of the sides of his mouth, he stared up, enraptured. His look was adoration; worship. A loyal subject paying homage. Eddie suddenly felt intensely uncomfortable about the man kneeling in front of him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't…"

"Don't stop, Eddie," said Waylon, voice rough, "take what you want, use me, you deserve to have some relief too, and I want it, please." Waylon wrapped his fingers around the base and brought it back toward his open mouth.

"You want me to fuck your face," said Eddie, watching Waylon's mouth hollow around his shaft, sliding up and down. He gasped when Waylon pushed way, both palms on Eddie's thigh, wet cock bobbing between them.

"Fuck yes," said Waylon, before diving back forward and sucking just the head of Eddie's cock noisily, "Fuck it like you mean it."

Eddie adjusted his grip on Waylon's hair and paused, gently scratching his nails along the back of Waylon's skull. Deceptively gentle. The caresses vanished the moment he thrust back inside.

No matter the angle or momentum, Waylon took it. Eddie watched, mesmerized by the soft moans and Waylon's black eyes staring up through tears. Waylon's makeup ran and smeared, adding to the allure. Eddie redoubled his efforts, and it didn't matter, he found only wet suction—smooth resistance.

Movement caught Eddie's eye, and he adjusted his stance to look down around the obscene display. Waylon had pulled himself out of his costume, flushed and thick. He worked his cock while holding his face lax and allowing Eddie to take his pleasure.

"Filthy slut," said Eddie, his voice more broken than he expected, sounding foreign in his own ears. "Already thirsting for more, rubbing one out in front of the entire crew wasn't dirty enough for you? You run back here to jerk off again?"

Waylon shuddered, groaning around Eddie, one hand pawing at Eddie's thigh while he worked himself with the other. Dark eyes stared up through wet lashes.

"Are you ready to drink it?" asked Eddie. "Down on your knees for me."

Waylon closed his eyes and moaned, smooth movements faltering. His eyes were unfocused when he opened again. Eddie bucked forward and Waylon's other hand moved to grip his thigh. His fingers left a glistening streak.

Eddie grunted and pushed into Waylon's mouth as his own climax hit. He gasped and moaned as he came. No complaints, only eyes closed in a euphoric trance and lips tight around Eddie's cock, obediently swallowing every drop.

Panting filled the warm trailer. Eddie released Waylon's hair, and leaned backwards against the trailer wall. He stared down at Waylon's spent cock, outside of his metallic costume, and the incriminating wet stripes on the floor.

Eddie wondered how many cocks Waylon had sucked to get such formidable skills. It wasn't a pleasant thought. It made him feel strangely jealous and queasy.

"Thank you," said Waylon, his voice ruined. He sat back on his heels, too blissed out to do anything more than stare.

"Your voice…do you have many more lines today?" asked Eddie, frowning with concern.

Waylon stared at the hand before it registered that he should stand up. His gaze was a thousand yards away.

"Waylon? Are you alright?"

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic," said Waylon, blinking several times before looking down at his spent cock hanging over the waistband of his costume. "Shit…"

"Your make up," said Eddie, frowning. "It was already smudged from earlier, but, maybe it doesn't matter for the body scenes?"

"Maybe," said Waylon, clearing his throat. "Fuck, if I walk back over to the set with come all over my costume and makeup smeared to hell, it's gonna attract attention."

"Luckily, I am done for the evening," said Eddie, staring down at his own rumpled appearance. He took a moment to tuck his shirt, and dick, back into his pants. "I need to get back to the motel, I'm done for the night."

"Wait, can we talk? Um, I know it was heat of the moment, but I wouldn't mind if you wanted to use me again, and…"

"I'm afraid that conversation will take longer than the estimated thirty seconds you have to get back on set."

"Shit," said Waylon, glancing around for the time. "Fuck, what should I do? What if they try to question me?!"

"You're an actor, darling, you act," said Eddie. He adjusted himself one final time, and opened the trailer door.

"Wait, Eddie, just one…"

Eddie didn't slam the door—that was the fault of the hinges. He let go and the door shut loudly, drawing the attention of a few eyes around the parking lot.

"Did this mean anything to you?"

Waylon's voice was barely audible through the trailer door. Eddie ignored it.

* * *

Waylon owed his makeup artist—big time. He sang her praises as he rushed onto set, sweating with nerves, and wearing a fresh costume.

"S-sorry! I lost track of time," said Waylon, stumbling over an extension cord on his way past the camera equipment. Vince was already seated on the bench, reading something on his phone, and drinking coffee from a foam cup.

"When did twenty minutes start to mean half an hour?" asked Dennis. "You're too green to pull this kind of diva behavior."

"I know, I'm sorry, Something…medical…came up," said Waylon.

"I don't care, get up there, you're putting us behind," said Dennis.

Shooting scenes with the body double felt odd. As though Randall was cheating on Felix—or Waylon betraying Eddie. But it was only acting. Waylon learned long ago to lose himself in the moment on camera. If he thought too hard about some of the videos he had made, it left him feeling cold.

Not like being with Eddie. That left him feeling warm all over, skin still tingling.

Waylon managed the rest of the shoot. There were no lines to speak, no noises to make, only body positions. Vince's ass was a thing of beauty, and Waylon got to pull his pants down to his thighs over, and over again. Then there was all the thrusting motions, shot from several different angles.

At least his earlier sessions meant he didn't sport any wood during the second round of shooting.

"I'm not sure how much ass we're going to end up using," said Dennis, frowning at his camera's playback. "I don't like any of these pulling pants down, seems too clinical. Try again, with more feeling."

Waylon pulled down Vince's pants, and lightly nipped at the meat of his cheek. There was no reaction—not like with Eddie. Vince looked bored. Waylon heaved a sigh of relief when filming concluded for the night.

He returned to his trailer, in terrible disarray. Various hair products and magazines shoved aside, and come stains on the floor. Waylon hadn't dreamed it—he'd had sex with Eddie Gluskin. Never in a million years had he expected it, and the reality of the situation left him reeling.

Triumphant? Satisfied? Maybe for a minute. Waylon ignored the longing sinking into his chest. Somewhere guilt fluttered around the edges of his consciousness as well, remembering all of Helen's kindness. Maybe they were in an open relationship? She had said something about a contract.

Waylon's heart stumbled when he saw the limousine, waiting. His pace quickened, and he waited with a smile as David opened the door. Waylon leapt into the backseat.

Empty. The drive was silent.

At the motel, Waylon walked directly to Eddie's room and knocked on the door. He shifted impatiently until Eddie opened the door, frowning. He wore a thin, white T-shirt and dark jeans. It was more casual than Waylon was accustomed to seeing him.

"Everything alright, Waylon?"

"I don't know," said Waylon, scowling. "You left in a hurry. Are you upset?"

"No," said Eddie. "Though, I do owe you an apologize for my behavior," he paused to inhale deeply, "it was wrong to force those things on you. I'm deeply sorry."

"It wasn't forced," said Waylon, scoffing. "I wanted to do that since the moment we met. Well, earlier, before I even met you, but I suspect hearing about a horny teenager jerking off to your horror films might creep you out."

Eddie sighed, shaking his head. "You really need to stop yourself from speaking sometimes."

"Are you mad at me?" asked Waylon, shifting in the doorway.

"Absolutely not," said Eddie, smiling softly. "I apologize, but I am in the middle of packing. Now that David is back, I'll be heading back to LA."

"Ah, right, Hong Kong…"

"I'll rejoin you back at the studio, next week," said Eddie.

"I'll miss you," whispered Waylon.

"Don't be absurd," said Eddie, chuckling. "It's only four days. I'll see you soon. We can speak later."

Waylon nodded as the door shut, quietly. He turned and walked to his own room. He opened the door to blackness, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the lights turned on.

"Fuck! Miles! What the hell?"

"You're asking that of _me_?! I should be asking that of you," said Mile, violently yanking Waylon into the motel room, and shutting the door. "I'm working up the fucking story of the century in here."

"What are you talking about?" asked Waylon.

"I know, I promised to keep that limousine picture from _Trager's_ out of the public eye, but I can't keep this next part secret."

"You're delusional," said Waylon, sighing. "You can't stay here anymore, Miles, go home." Waylon moved to open the door, but Miles stood toe-to-toe, a wicked grin on his face.

"I talked to the workers at that brothel last night," said Miles. "Seems they all remembered Eddie Gluskin walking in there, and walking back out, after talking to only _one_ person. Wanna venture a guess who that was?"

"He was uncomfortable, so he left," said Waylon, shrugging.

"Paid for some footage from that night," said Miles, opening his phone. He swiped backwards, and pointed the screen toward Waylon. It was a grainy, black and white closed-circuit television picture of Eddie and Waylon. From the security camera's vantage point, it was impossible to see Waylon's hand on Eddie's chest, but the image was suggestive enough.

"Would you keep your voice down?" said Waylon, pulling Miles away from the door. Eddie was next door, packing. Waylon wrung his hands together, frowning.

"Was it you that made him uncomfortable?" asked Miles.

"I don't know, he's a strange guy," said Waylon, keeping his voice low. Exactly how thin were the motel walls? "He got nervous, and left. So what if maybe I was trying to flirt with him. He wasn't having it."

"Not that night," said Miles, staring back at his phone. "But something tells me he got over those nerves."

When Miles turned the screen back around, there was a picture of Eddie chasing after Waylon. Eddie wore his disheveled suit, and Waylon was in his metallic costume and open robe. Miles flipped through the pictures. They followed Eddie as he chased Waylon to his trailer, pushed him against the door, then inside. Several shots of the solitary trailer, and Eddie emerging with his head kept down low.

"To answer your question, yes, I did film it with the camcorder, as well, and that trailer definitely jumped a couple times, what were you two _doing_ in there? Did you let the Executioner fuck you in the ass?"

"You have to get rid of this stuff, Miles."

"Uh, hell no," said Miles, smirking. "This is fucking huge, are you kidding me? Eddie Gluskin, most eligible bachelor in Hollywood, notorious womanizer, is now having an affair with is _male costar_. This was huge when it wasn't real, now, holy fuck, this is going to be monumental. I'll go down in fucking history!"

"Please, Miles, you can't do this, Eddie'll never speak to me again if you…"

"No denial? You admit it?" asked Miles, grinning even wider. "You're fucking Eddie Gluskin?! Wow! When was the first time? What's he like in the sack?"

"It's not like that," said Waylon, voice cracking. "Please, don't do this. You're my best friend, and I'll never have a chance to get close to Eddie if you do this. It was only the one time, shooting an intimate scene riled me up.

"He was only trying to calm my nerves, as a mentor, because he's such a nice guy, but I don't know, maybe I could have a chance to know him better, but something like this would chase him away."

"Your makeup woman sold you out, by the way," said Miles, grinning. "She's a source confirming you came back from the break with your voice raw and eye makeup streaming down your cheeks. Sounds hot."

All the thanks and goodwill Waylon felt toward his makeup artist vaporized in an instant. Of course, anyone in the business would sell out anyone else. It was a huge scramble to the top, without any thought for whose dreams you crushed to get there.

"I'll give you another story," said Waylon. "I can start a fight, or get drunk in public, wave my dick at traffic, or whatever sensational, embarrassing thing you can imagine. Just, please, don't publish that story."

"You're a nobody, cookie dough," said Miles, laughing. "Nobody cares what you do. If you went and murdered someone, in cold blood, you might make a small blurb on the news, 'Retired Pornstar Gone Crazy.' So, no, there's nothing you can do."

"I'll never forgive you, if you do this," said Waylon, sniffing. "Never, Miles."

"I've been taking care of you for years now," said Miles. "You don't even have a home to go back to if I quit paying your damn rent. How do you think I can afford that, if I don't produce stories like this one?"

"There are other stories—better ones, don't hurt Eddie," said Waylon, tears falling freely. "Don't hurt this movie, my future, my…" Waylon clutched at his chest.

"So dramatic, come on, he won't take it personal, this kinda shit happens to actors all the time, he's seen his share of scandals, c'mon…"

"But this one will turn him away from me, and I want to be with him," said Waylon, choking back sobs. "Please? Don't do this? We're just becoming friends."

"You owe me," said Miles, shaking his head. "You owe me, big time. I took you in, I helped jump start your porn career with the cam stuff, I introduced you to Frank, and I supported your choice to go legit. I'm the only one there for you, taking care of you, giving you a home, and food…"

"I'll get some money, I'll have Frank get me some more jobs, I'll move out, if you'd just let this movie get made, it could pay me in gross sales percentage…"

"Or…" said Miles, holding up his hand to stop Waylon's tirade, "or I could run this story, get a huge paycheck, and give you a cut. How's ten percent, sound? I'd be willing to up that to fifty if you could give me an exclusive interview with the dude that turned Eddie onto dudes."

"Fuck you, Miles," said Waylon. "If you ruin my chances with Eddie, I'll get back at you. I'll find a way. I'll never stop fighting you."

"Are you trying to give me a boner? Because when you look at me all mad like that, it makes my dick twitch in my pants."

"Please…please, don't…"

Miles shrugged with a crooked grin.

"I'll give you anything," said Waylon.

"You have nothing I want," said Miles, chuckling. "I've fucked you plenty of times, you're broke, and your power in the industry is currently zero. Potentially in the negatives, if this film bombs. I'm sorry, this really isn't personal, but this is my profession—my job. I do mine; you do yours."

Miles grabbed his gym bag, already packed with his belongings, and slung it over his shoulder. "No hard feelings," said Miles, opening the motel door. "See ya at home, sugarcookie."


	9. Chapter 9: Bad Publicity

**Chapter 9: Bad Publicity**

Interviews were often the most grueling part of the job for Eddie. Mostly because it meant spending an entire day playing himself, Eddie Gluskin, the actor. These particular interviewers were made more complicated because most of the interviewers were in Cantonese and a few Mandarin. Eddie had trouble asking where the bathroom was in either language.

As one interview came to an end, another interviewer immediately sat down and began to prepare, keeping with the endless stream of press meetings.

"How many more?" asked Eddie.

"Um, wait, which one is this?" asked Andrew, speaking aside with one of the translators.

"This is the radio talk persona from the Radio Television Hong Kong," said the translator, a Chinese man as tall as Andrew wearing a plain, gray suit.

"Okay, so only…" Andrew clicked his tongue as he stared at his phone. "Only twelve more."

"Only," said Eddie, blowing air through his teeth.

The interviews continued into the evening. Eddie's stomach began to roil. He tried to get Andrew's attention to ask about dinner, but Andrew was on his phone. He stared, unblinking, eyes wide. Perhaps a problem with the interview schedule.

Finally, the last scheduled interviewer sat down and began their questions. Eddie was hungry, he had a headache, and he had answered nearly identical questions for the last six hours, but he persevered. Always the professional.

And after an entire day of repetition, a unique question emerged.

"Do you have any comments on your newest project, currently filming?"

Eddie frowned at the interviewer, before turning toward the translator. "I thought this interview was only about _The Seven Rings of Europa_?" He paused while the translator relayed the message to the interviewer, who smiled before asking another question.

"Do you have any comments on your _relationship_ with your costar in your current film?"

"I'm currently dating Helen Granat, she was my costar on _Shallow Tides_ , not _The Seven Rings of Europa_."

As the answer was translated, the interviewer began speaking quickly, and several people in the wings scribbled down notes.

"No, specifically, do you have any comments on your personal relationship with your male costar, Waylon Park?"

Eddie's frown deepened as the question was translated.

"Andrew," Eddie angry whispered, only to find his agent still on the goddamn phone. He turned a placating smile on the interviewer.

"No comment, I'm afraid I've had a long day and must retire if you'll excuse me," said Eddie. The translator was still speaking when he stood up, gave a respectful nod of his head, and walked to where Andrew paced with a phone glued to his ear.

"I'm starving, and these questions are getting off topic, I could use an _agent_ right now," said Eddie, glaring. Andrew had the audacity to hold up a finger into Eddie's face, demanding silence. Eddie snarled. "If you value your job…"

"What do we know about the author?" Andrew asked into the phone, pausing to hum. "What about his sources? A makeup artist, easy to discredit, but how did they get the pictures? The author, himself? Filthy paparazzi assholes. I'm sure this is nothing. We'll have an official statement shortly. I'll call you back."

Eddie slowly began to feel less sure of his anger. His hunger disappeared, but his headache redoubled in strength.

"Come on, let's get back to the hotel," said Andrew. "Room service for dinner tonight."

"What's going on?" asked Eddie.

Andrew shook his head. "Not here." He gestured with only his eyes at the multitude of reporters in the room. Many were likely bilingual, listening to every word.

Andrew waited until they were alone in the elevator, headed down twenty floors to the lobby. The words came quickly, as though he couldn't get them out of his mouth fast enough.

"There's a story, live today, in _Celebrity Close Up_ , the damn bottom-feeders. There's rumors, suggestive video, and photographic evidence, that you're having an affair with Waylon Park."

"Wha…absurd," said Eddie.

"They got pictures of you walking into his trailer, and he's basically naked," said Andrew.

"We're shooting a film about a male stripper, of course, he was nearly naked, that's his wardrobe."

"You two went to a brothel, together?" asked Andrew.

"I ventured, for a moment, it was next door to our filming location, and several of the crew were in attendance," said Eddie. "I stayed all of five minutes, before realizing my mistake."

"Okay, we need an official statement," said Andrew. He stuck out his tongue so that it pointed up toward his nose. An annoying habit that meant he was scheming. "Eddie Gluskin and Waylon Park are co-stars in an upcoming film about the gay porn industry. They are comfortable with one another, as required for filming. The pictures are purposely misleading. Mr. Gluskin is currently living with Helen Granat."

By the time the elevator opened on the lobby floor, Eddie felt faint. He was quiet in the car as Andrew phoned contacts, repeating the 'official statement' over and over. Back at the hotel, Andrew retired to his own room to type up the statement for distribution through the usual channels. Eddie used his phone to search for the article.

There it was-on the front page of Google's Entertainment News. Eddie followed a link to the original source and scowled at the author's name. _Upshur_. Again?

"If I ever get my hands on this son of a whore…"

Eddie squinted at the photographs. There were CCTV screenshots of himself at the brothel, with Waylon standing very close. It wasn't shocking that a whorehouse had sold his privacy for cash. The other pictures were more troubling. Photographs of him following Waylon to his trailer and emerging, obviously disheveled.

Well. Still, circumstantial.

 _A witness attested that Park returned to the set, late, with his makeup and hair in need of extensive touch-ups. Park and Gluskin play lovers in the upcoming film_ Mainstream _, filming now._

Eddie's phone vibrated and chimed as it rang on the hotel nightstand. The day was ending in Hong Kong, but California was just waking up to glorious rumor fodder. Eddie ignored the calls.

Andrew had left his sleeping pills which Eddie sometimes required when traveling. Sleeping in strange places, alone, during stressful conditions. Eddie was ready to pass out when his phone played its custom chime that only rang for one person.

Eddie sighed and hit the button to accept the call.

"Darling," said Eddie, smiling.

"Eddie-baby," said Helen, giggling sleepily over the line. "How's Hong Kong?"

"Exhausting," said Eddie. "I almost regret that the movie did so well overseas, to need to endure a second round of interviews."

"That can get tiresome, I know," said Helen, yawning. "Sorry, I just looked at the time conversion, it's late there. I didn't know if you'd be awake, but I needed to call you because I'm getting _tons_ of phone calls this morning. There's an article that went live, about you."

"I know, Andrew's already on it with our official statement," said Eddie.

"What's my official statement?" asked Helen.

"Isn't that something your publicist would create? Your agent, even?"

"I know that," said Helen, giggling softly, "I just meant, Eddie, what's my official…stance on this? How am I supposed to feel?"

Eddie sighed heavily into the phone. Too tired to properly think, let alone give character motivation to a real person. Should have let the call go to voicemail.

"You know my stance on gossip reporters," said Eddie.

"I know, but I also know you," said Helen, snorting. "Waylon he's, really cute, he needs a lot of help. He could probably use a friend like you in his corner."

"I can't help him the way I helped you, I can't offer him the same type of support," said Eddie. Though Helen had a point. Waylon was cute. But Eddie wasn't about to admit that out loud.

"Oh, stop it, you're not homophobic," said Helen, and Eddie heard the susurrus of fabric shifting on her side of the line. "Even if you're not interested in Waylon, I think it's just time Eddie. I'm sorry."

"Time for…"

"I'll sign off on the contract thing," said Helen.

"You wish to dissolve our…partnership?" asked Eddie. "Over this?"

"It's not anything about this, honestly, it's just time," said Helen. "You more than held up your end, I've got this great role, I'm busier than ever, but it's time for me to move on, get out there again. I'm ultimately looking for things you can't give me."

"I understand," said Eddie, softly.

Helen yawned loudly into the receiver. "Sorry, yeah. I'll get my things out before you're back in town."

"If you wouldn't mind, could you delay your official departure, for a little while?" asked Eddie. "It will look worse, to the public, if you move out the day this smear campaign hits the news."

Helen hummed over the line for a moment. "Sure thing, babe. I don't have much, anyways. I'll pack it up and you can have it delivered to my new place, later."

"Thank you," said Eddie, smiling in the dark of his hotel room. "I have nothing but fond feelings for you, and I know you're going to go far in this industry. If there's ever anything I can do for you…"

"Oh, we'll be in touch, Eddie-baby," said Helen. Eddie could hear the smile.

* * *

Dark sunglasses, hat, and scarf over Eddie's face failed to fool the waiting vultures. Eddie landed in Los Angeles a day later, to a blistering wall of flash.

"Eddie! Eddie! Are you gay? What do you say to the rumors that you're involved with Waylon Park? Are you still with Helen Granat?"

The questions all morphed into a terrifying cacophony. Eddie kept his head down and walked through the crowd. Andrew and David walked at his sides, shielding him from the crowd. Wailing continued even after the crew was secured in the limousine.

"Take me home," grumbled Eddie, able to speak directly because the partition was down.

"Can't do it, we gotta get to Murkoff Studios, first," said Andrew.

"Fuck that," said Eddie, "that's the last place I want to go right now. You think there won't be reporters camped outside?"

"Jeremy's demanding it," said Andrew.

"Fuck Jeremy, he can't make demands on me," said Eddie.

"You really wanna get in a fight with the studio, while dealing with the rest of this shitstorm?" asked Andrew. "He's probably just got some official statement on the situation. Damage control."

Eddie's doubts were considerable. He sat stewing in silence until they arrived at the Murkoff Studio offices. It was impossible to divine Jeremy's intentions. If he wanted to punish Eddie in some way for the negative publicity, the day could take a nasty turn.

Eddie stormed down the hallway, directly into Jeremy Blaire's waiting room. Andrew was a step behind, phone to his ear. Eddie prepared to barge through the door but stopped short when he noticed he wasn't alone in the small, posh waiting area.

"Eddie," said Waylon. He smiled, though it was an unsure, tremulous thing. "W-what are you doing here?"

"What am I…what are you doing here?"

"Jeremy called me in for an emergency strategy meeting," said Waylon, standing up and meeting Eddie by the door. He wore faded jeans and a gray T-shirt with a large bleach stain that appeared accidental rather than decorative. "Are you here for the same meeting?"

"No," said Eddie, frowning. "If I am, I was not informed. I was only coming to see Jer."

"I take it you saw the…"

"Obviously."

"Eddie, I'm so…"

Eddie held up his hand to halt Waylon's speech and pushed open the door to Jeremy's office.

"Ed, you're here," said Jeremy, sitting behind his executive desk. "Your boyfriend here, too?"

Eddie's eyes went round as he glared at Jeremy. "How dare you…"

"I'm not judging, Waylon is one tight package, tell him to get that sweet ass in here—and hurry, I have a full day after this."

Eddie held the door open, scowling. "Come on," said Eddie. Waylon slipped into the office but stood awkwardly next to the door, a respectable distance away from Eddie.

"Wait wait," said Andrew.

"Sorry, Studio business," said Jeremy. He gave Eddie a curt nod, and Eddie slammed the door shut. It locked, automatically. Andrew's angry protests were muffled by whatever insulation was used in the door. Mildly impressive.

"Alright, I know you two've seen the headlines," said Jeremy.

"I make a habit of ignoring such low-brow gossip," said Eddie, while Waylon spoke at the same time.

"I can explain," said Waylon. He looked pale.

"No need to explain anything," said Jeremy, grinning. "I don't care what type of deviant behavior you two have been up to, all I care about is that all of America woke up this morning, checked the Internet news, and started talking about _Mainstream_. We just went from small, unknown project, to the most anticipated film of the upcoming season."

"You mean…you're not mad that we fucked around on set?" asked Waylon

Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, Jeremy's smirk made his hackles rise.

"Like I said," Jeremy chuckled as he leaned forward, "I don't care what you guys did—or didn't do. All I care about is what you continue to do. I'm being direct here, I want you two dating. Make it official. I want the paparazzi hounding you, all over town—I want everyone in the world to know about this new Eddie Gluskin movie, I want them to mark the release date on their calendars. This could be bigger than big. This is exactly what we all wanted."

"You're saying we should date, like, officially?" asked Waylon, voice cracking like a teenager.

"As far as the press is concerned," said Jeremy.

"Impossible," said Eddie, relaxing his posture. "I'm just coming out of a long-term relationship with Helen, and I don't make it a habit to date men."

"Ed, you're always getting out of a long-term relationship," said Jeremy. "And you're always dating your movie love interests. It makes so much sense—and even more _cents_." Jeremy rubbed two fingers together for emphasis. "I can't force you, you're not contractually obligated, but don't you want this movie to be a success, for both of you?"

"There are other ways to get publicity without resulting to a ridiculous stunt like this," said Eddie.

"If this movie is half as good as I think it can be, the more people that see it, the better the prospects of this being this award season's golden child."

Eddie glowered as he met Waylon's gaze. Dark brown eyes shimmered, wide and hopeful. An adorable puppy with curly yellow hair, full of optimistic energy.

"No," said Eddie, turning to walk out of the office.

"Think it over, okay, Ed?" asked Jeremy. "Right now, we're all 'no comment,' when it comes to the press. Oh yeah, if we try to keep it a secret, that'll just make them salivate for it even more. No confirming or denying, that is an order. I'm serious, this conversation _never_ happened, don't even tell your dying mother on her deathbed, a publicity stunt like that would damage all of us. Just, think about it. I trust you'll consider this from a practical standpoint. The way you do all of your relationships."

"This isn't the same, how is this practical?" asked Eddie.

"It's practical to have a hit movie, with tons of buzz," said Jeremy, giving a tight-lipped frown. "Or were you hoping to spend your twilight years working without a contract? You think that agents of yours out there can get you work after you blow it with Murkoff? You're one embarrassing failure away from retiring to Comic-Con panels for eternity, taking pictures for one hundred bucks a pop while basement dwellers ask you obscure facts about _Executioner VIX: Let Them Eat Death_?"

Eddie snarled, before opening the heavy door and turning out of the office. He stalked toward the elevator, ignoring Andrews' calls until he was stopped by a warm hand sliding into his own.

Turning around, Eddie met the eyes of a smiling Waylon. Their hands remained joined. Waylon's cheeks were pink, from sprinting to catch up, or from blushing.

"I'm sorry," said Waylon, fighting to catch his breath. "I had no idea that's what this meeting would be about. I really just, wanted to apologize, this is all my fault, and I'm really sorry to you, to Helen…"

"You don't need to worry about those things," said Eddie, keeping his words brief. He stared longingly at the elevator.

Waylon still held Eddie's hand, and he brought the other around to sandwich his palms around Eddie's. He met Eddie's eyes, and smiled, blushing from his ears to his neck.

"Um, I want you to know I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of us dating," said Waylon, biting his lip. "I was hoping, honestly, after what happened on set that we would get a chance to get to know one another better…"

"Did you do this on purpose?" asked Eddie, voice deceptively soft.

"W-what?" asked Waylon.

"Did you have something to do with this story getting out? Did you get here early today to convince Jeremy that this was a good idea? Is this why you…you seduced me?"

Waylon's brown eyes shimmered and grew impossibly larger. "No! I would never do anything to hurt you like that! Jeremy told me to come here today, same as you, and the other day, that was what I wanted, and it seemed like you wanted…"

Andrew came storming out of Jeremy's office and down the hall. "We gotta talk about this, Eddie," he screamed down the hall, interrupting the conversation, "you know how much is riding on this movie. We can tease a small amount of publicity out of this article, sure, but nothing would seal that attention quite like the two of you, dating in public, moving in together, the whole thing."

Waylon met Eddie's eyes again, renewed hope.

"Oh, Blaire was bitching about you, Waylon, said he had some other business to slap on you, he urged me to phrase it like that," said Andrew, rolling his eyes.

Eddie pulled his hand back from Waylon and inclined his head. "I feel like this is a bad idea—a knee jerk reaction to one article, easily disproven. There's no reason to discuss something so drastic just because we both had a moment of weakness after an arousing scene. It's better for business if we keep this professional. It's nothing personal."

* * *

Nothing Personal. First Miles; then Eddie.

Jeremy was on the phone when Waylon returned.

"You wanted me to…"

"Have answers by five, or don't bother coming in tomorrow," said Jeremy, before ending the call, and smiling at Waylon. "Close the door, Park?"

Waylon closed the office door. It locked loudly.

"This is nice," said Jeremy, as his smile grew into something greasy and appalling, "we haven't gotten any time alone together since just after your audition."

Waylon hummed acknowledgment and glanced back at the door. Thinking about the audition put him instantly on edge. The door wasn't locked on the inside-he could leave. But Jeremy wouldn't like that. Instead, Waylon smiled and met Jeremy's eyes.

"Do you remember what I told you when we got you signed up for this film?" asked Jeremy.

"You said a lot of things," said Waylon, slipping into a persona. Putting on a face. He cocked a half smile but remained near the door. He itched to make some excuse and run away but practiced control kept him in place.

"I told you I was going to make your dreams come true," said Jeremy, holding both hands out, palm up, "well?"

"I'm grateful…"

"This kinda publicity can translate into financial success, means more work for you, means you get everything I said you'd get," said Jeremy, smirking. He held up one hand and crooked his finger twice. "Come here."

Waylon approached the other side of the desk, accentuating his walk, swaying his hips. Jeremy leaned back in his chair and patted his thigh. Waylon sat down, obediently, looking up at Jeremy out of the side of his eye. He was going for coy, though he only felt ill.

"You still want this, right? Still wanna be a movie star, put all that disgusting porn business behind you?" Jeremy rested a hand on Waylon's knee and it began to climb steadily. "Because this movie is in danger. If Eddie pulls his support, this movie will fail after limited release, and you'll be filming _Gangbang Garage 7_ by this time next week."

Waylon barely flinched when Jeremy grabbed him between his legs. "I still want it, still want this movie to make it," he said because it was the truth. Waylon squirmed on Jeremy's lap.

"Show me how much you still want it," said Jeremy, voice thick with amusement. "Convince me."

 _Lights_. Waylon slid out of Jeremy's lap and stared up, past his leering face, at the standard canister lights in the ceiling of the office.

 _Camera_. Waylon glanced out of the corner of his eye to a wall of bookshelves, two were ceiling height and acted as bookends to a shorter case. An award on the center was made to resemble an old-fashioned movie camera, obviously some kind of industry award.

 _Action_.

Deft hands worked Jeremy's pants open, untucked his dress shirt enough that Waylon could reach his black boxer briefs. He only pulled enough to bring out Jeremy's cock and balls, along with a smattering of wiry hair he worried might catch in the pants zipper. Would serve him right.

Jeremy reached down to grab the base of his own thick cock. He pointed it toward Waylon's face where he sat, kneeling. Waylon licked his lips and forced himself not to think too hard. _Don't look like you wanna throw up. Don't look like you wanna throw up._

"You know how I know you're going to make a great actor?" asked Jeremy, squeezing his hand up his dick and milking out a dribble of precome, "because you know your place."

Jeremy took his time, smearing the tip across the seam of Waylon's lips, his chin, his cheek. Then he used his dick to smack Waylon in the mouth. "Now, hurry up. I have a three o'clock in this office. Don't need it smelling like hooker sweat."

As far as scenes go, Waylon had done much worse. Videos featuring humiliation kinks, being blindfolded and hogtied while being force-fed an endless line of dicks. That was his job, he agreed to those scenes, and strict protocols were followed. It was fake.

Well, the scene in Jeremy's office was fake, too.

Waylon wrapped his lips around the side of Jeremy's cock, and pushed his mouth up and down, sucking the taut skin. He pushed in a modest amount and used his hand to grip the base, hand sliding up and down in time with his lips. Always the hand away from the camera—never block the view.

Horny viewers wanted to see the dirty details. It's not good enough to see a head in a crotch, they need to see lips straining, cheeks hollowed, and a tongue wiggling into the slit.

Frank's advice on his first scene floated to the surface. When Waylon had walked onto the set and found out he was playing a young man seduced by his elderly neighbor. _You can always just imagine it's someone you wanna be fuckin', ya know?_

Waylon looked up at Jeremy, but his mind chose to see Eddie. He remembered the way Eddie came undone because of his mouth. If he could get his lips back around Eddie, he would make sure the experience was even better than the first time.

Hungry, best described the way Waylon attacked Jeremy's cock. He sucked and licked, bobbing his head and his hand, never slowing. He kept his face tilted toward the camera. The award camera, recording his every move.

Jeremy was quiet—silent, event. His breathing was steady and deep, as though he were practicing yoga instead of having his dick sucked in his office. Waylon appreciated the lack of noise. It allowed him to replay the sound of Eddie moaning. The dirty talk pouring out before Eddie could stop it.

"Hold it," said Jeremy. A hard grip on the back of his neck kept Waylon from pulling away when Jeremy came with a loud exhale. Waylon balked at the initial spray, then focused on ignoring the thick, hot mess filling his mouth.

"Show me," rasped Jeremy, as Waylon stared up, mouth still stretched around Jeremy's twitching cock. He remembered that part from before.

Waylon pulled off and stuck out his tongue, displaying the come he held in his mouth.

"Swallow."

Waylon obeyed. It was part of the scene. Part of his fake character. The desperate actor willing to get on his knees for a part in a movie.

"Good boy," said Jeremy, snickering.

Waylon's knees ached and creaked as he stood back up. Jeremy tucked himself and fixed his pants and shirt, as though nothing unusual had occurred.

"You seem sincere enough about wanting this," said Jeremy, clearing his throat. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small, black comb. He worked it through his stiff locks, though not a single strand had gone awry. "Don't worry, Eddie will go along, he won't have a choice, and you and I can continue our mutually beneficial relationship. Hate to let a pair of cocksucking lips like yours go to waste."

Waylon nodded. Smiled. Sometimes he received compliments in the porn industry, and you took them as that—compliments. _What a cocksucker_ , one partner had commented. _Thanks_ , said Waylon.

Jeremy's face went serious as he stared at his desk. Waylon began to back slowly toward the door.

"Stop by Payroll on your way out, and pick up a check. If you're going to be dating Eddie Gluskin, you need to buy some new clothes. It'll be tough to convince the public if you're always dressed like a flea bitten whore."

"Right," said Waylon, forcing a smile as he unlocked the door. "I'll get right on it."

"I'll have my assistant email you a list of acceptable shops, you need to look respectable."

"Alright, Mr. Blaire," said Waylon, nodding. "See ya later."

Because what else should anyone say to the man who just coerced them into sexual favors? The man who gave Waylon his big break. The man responsible for all of his recent luck.

"Thanks, again," said Waylon.

* * *

Waylon sat on the floor folding his extensive T-shirt collection and shoving them into a battered cardboard box when the door opened.

"Hey there cupcake, why are you doing making a mess in the living room?" asked Miles, stepping into the apartment with his laptop under his arm. He paused when he noticed a line of shopping bags across their stained couch. "Ferragamo? Since when do they make T-shirts with X-rated slogans on the front?"

"I bought them today," said Waylon. His voice was quiet, but the short reply caused Miles to chunk his laptop next to the bags on the couch and drop down to his knees next to Waylon.

"Butterbean! You're talking to me! Fuck, it's been a really long three days. I think it was a new record."

"No, I ignored you for a whole week after you posted our videos online."

"Don't act like you're still mad about that, I mean, in the end, it worked out for the best, right? Got you that meeting with Frank, and launched you into the Masturbation Hall of Fame."

"The ends don't justify the means, Miles," said Waylon, though Miles didn't seem to hear. He was too busy throwing his arms around Waylon's waist and burying his face in his shoulder.

"Awww, it's horrible when my sweet thing isn't talking to me..."

"I'm leaving Miles."

"...because then I end up having to talk to myself, and well, we both know how disturbing _that_ is, and I have such good news for you because the check from the article went through today, and…"

"Did you even hear me? Miles, I'm _leaving."_

"Where ya going? Need a ride? Want company?" Miles waggled his eyebrows.

Waylon folded the last T-shirt in the stack, and closed the cardboard box, slotting the edges together until it was closed. "I'm moving out. For a little while-forever. I don't know yet."

"You're...wait, is this over the article?! Don't be such a fucking baby, you wanna be a movie star, I'm not the only person that's going to publish stories about you, at least this way you know the guy that got paid, and that guy is willing to buy _you_ a nice steak dinner."

Waylon forced a sad smile when he met Miles' eyes. "My ride'll be here soon."

"Don't leave..."

"I have to," said Waylon, holding out his hands in a helpless gesture. "I want to."

"Where are you going?"

Waylon shrugged and pushed up into a standing position. Miles grabbed his arm and used it to leverage himself back to his feet as well.

"You have to tell me."

"I don't have to tell you anything," said Waylon, dark eyes flashing cold for a moment, though it hurt. It hurt to be cold to Miles. Even ignoring him for the past couple days, when Waylon had cried himself to sleep sure he was fired from the film and never going to speak with Eddie again. Waylon missed his friend.

"Then I'm just gonna have to tail you, have you followed, break into your online accounts..."

Waylon sighed, worrying his bottom lip. Jeremy had forbidden them from speaking. But the world would know about the move soon enough. That was the plan, right? And Miles wasn't bluffing-he really _would_ have Waylon tailed.

"If you must know," said Waylon, standing up straighter and putting on his best haughty voice, "I'm going to stay with Eddie for a while."

"Eddie...Gluskin?"

Waylon nodded his head once.

"You're fucking me."

"No, Miles, you'd feel that. For days."

Miles' grin was automatic and genuine. It made Waylon smile in return.

"Fuck, moving in with _Eddie Gluskin_ , damn, is this because of the article? You guys really are having an affair?"

"Helen's moving out, they're no longer dating."

"What the...can I get you as a source on that?! How do you know?!"

" _Hollywood Report_ broke it this morning," said Waylon, shrugging.

"But you knew before it broke?!"

Waylon smirked.

"And you didn't _tell me_ you hoho how could you do this to me?"

"You already got your fucking story you asshole, now leave me alone..."

"No fucking way, if you're dating Eddie Gluskin, for real, then there's going to be photographs it's going to happen, why can't it be me?! I'll make sure to only show your good side!" Miles clutched at Waylon's hand and pulled him roughly until he stumbled slightly, "Take me with you!"

"First, I am not allowed to bring a friend you dumbass, second off, I don't really trust you right now," said Waylon, shrugging. "I asked you not to run that article."

"And yet, not a week later, you're actually dating the guy, so...is it too soon for me to say uh, _you're welcome_?"

"You should be saying you're _sorry_ , you shithead," said Waylon, jerking his arm away from Miles. "You never should have run that story."

"Why? Because then you and Eddie could have had a nice, slow, normal courtship? This is Hollywood, poptart, things happen on a different timetable, get used to things moving quickly, and get used to the press knowing your every move, did you even read the story? I didn't say a single negative thing about either of you."

"It doesn't matter, I _begged_ you..."

"You begged me not to run it, and yet then someone else would have, and they would have said something about how you were a cheap nobody pornstar piece of shit using Eddie Gluskin for his money, did you see anything in there about that? Because that would have been a juicy angle to take..."

"You can make all the excuses in the world, Miles, you're my friend, and you betrayed my trust."

"Get me some exclusives. If you guys are dating, give me some tips about public dates, let me do your first official couples interview, come on, you _owe me_..."

"Whatever I owe you, consider it paid, how much did you get for that story and photographs, anyways? One hundred thousand? Two hundred?"

"Oh, stop, I only got seventy because even with the sources confirming, and all the pictures, there wasn't really a smoking gun in there, a picture of you two heavy making out, now _that_ is on every paparazzi's hit list right now, every magazine and website in the world is offering a bounty on that shit. Let me follow you right now, just, when you arrive, a quick kiss at the door, I would use that to..."

A knock on the door disrupted the rant. Waylon rushed to open it and saw two men he didn't recognize wearing short sleeved uniform shirts with "AAA Pro Movers" emblazoned on the shoulder.

"Hello!"

"Mr. Park?" asked a burly man with a thick beard and bald head.

"Yes, that's me," said Waylon, not noticing when Miles walked up behind him and pressed himself against his back.

"Who wants to know?" asked Miles, before Waylon could elbow him in the stomach.

"We're here to move his things," said the man, gesturing over his shoulder. A huge eighteen wheeler was beeping as it backed into the Melrose Apartment Block.

"Oh, wow, this is uh, embarrassing," said Waylon, cheeks going pink as he chuckled. Waylon gestured at the shopping bags, three battered cardboard boxes, and a ratty suitcase full to the point of straining at the seams. "That's all my stuff."

The man surveyed the pile with disinterest and held out a clipboard. "If you'll just sign here, we'll get this stuff sorted away for you."

"Thanks," said Waylon, still blushing as he scratched his signature onto the board.

"Stay," said Miles, grabbing Waylon's hand. He laced their fingers together and used his other hand to grab Waylon's chin and force their eyes to meet. "Hey, I'm your best friend, I care about you, and this feels _really_ sudden. Three days ago you're saying you guys are just friends, now you're moving in together, and yesterday you had a meet with Jeremy..."

"For fuck's sake, quit following me!"

"You weren't talking to me! I had to know you were _safe_ , especially when I realized you were near Murkoff Studios." Miles paused, lightly sliding his hand along Waylon's face, brushing blond curls out of the way. "He didn't touch you again, did he?"

Three strapping men walked into the open apartment and stared at the small group of belongings. Waylon took a large step away from Miles and frowned.

It took the men one trip to move all of Waylon's worldly belongings out of the apartment.

"Date Gluskin if you want, I won't hound you about it, but don't just move in with him, stay here, stay _safe_."

"It's complicated," said Waylon, sighing.

"Let me ride with you at least, to make sure everything's kosher?"

"I don't have all the details yet, about the cohabitation thing, but I'm sure I'll be allowed visitors, okay? If you _promise on your Mother's grave_ that you won't post any pictures or stories without my consent, then you can visit."

"And you'll call me if anything gets weird?"

"I'll call you if things get weird."

"He's not like, using you as some kinda sex toy right?"

"Miles."

"Because that would be sexy as hell."

" _Miles._ "

"I don't want you to _goooo_..." The last word came out as a long whine as Miles launched himself at Waylon and begin placing loud, sloppy kisses all over his cheeks and head.

"Would you fucking..." but Waylon was laughing, "cut it out."

A loud sound from the doorway caused Waylon to shove Miles so abruptly he backed into a wall hard enough to cause him to yelp.

"That's my roommate," said Waylon, giving a shaky smile. "Just a friend."

" _Just friends_ ," said Miles, making an obvious wink before shoving his tongue into his cheek in quick succession.

"I just need a signature," said the main mover with the beard, "and, there's a note, says you're riding with your belongings?"

"Yeah, I'm ready," said Waylon, accepting the clipboard and signing again to signal the move was complete to his satisfaction. He handed it back and turned to give a last sad look to Miles. "I'll call you later, okay?"

Miles put on a crooked grin and shrugged. "I'll miss you, angelcake."

* * *

A/N: So next chapter begins officially the "Fake Dating" portion of our story haha, dealing with work and getting to know one another while faking it for the camera. I loved all the Miles hate you guys lol he is an unrepentant asshole but sadly, Waylon's used to it


	10. Chapter 10: Method Actng

**Chapter 10: Method Acting**

When the moving van pulled into the large driveway of Eddie's Bel Air mansion, Waylon stared in confusion. An identical truck, just as gigantic with an identical logo, was already parked there.

One of the workers opened the door and helped Waylon down from the truck's cab. He scurried out of the way to avoid tripping up the workers. The sound of the front door opening signaled a sigh of relief, but when he turned it wasn't Eddie Gluskin walking out of the house.

"WAY!"

"Helen?!" Waylon waved enthusiastically as Helen walked over with quick, short steps due to her heels. She wore a hot pink tube top, black capris, and a pair of strappy gold sandals.

"I couldn't believe it when Eddie said you were moving in, that's really good news," said Helen, grinning.

"Ah, yeah, um, I'm sorry you guys broke up," said Waylon, fighting a blush. "I didn't mean…"

"Hey, no big deal, I'm just grabbing the last of my stuff right now," said Helen, gesturing at the two gigantic moving trucks. "Figures Eddie way over thought this. When I moved in, I had one suitcase, and he somehow thinks in the last months I've upgraded to needing a full-sized moving truck."

"Yeah that was confusing as hell," said Waylon, looking back at the trucks. The one from his apartment is open, and the men are easily handling his meager belongings.

"I'm actually kinda excited that you're the one moving in because at least now I have someone I can talk to about all the weird contract stuff," said Helen, looking around Waylon, watching the men as they carried out her luggage. "How are you dealing with everything?"

"With, what exactly?"

"I don't know, shit, the gag order, the NDA, it can be scary moving in here by yourself, I know Eddie's kinda intimidating. I'm assuming since we have the same contract situation, surely it's alright for us to discuss it together in private, right?"

"I don't know what you're…"

"Aren't you with Eddie now?"

"Oh," said Waylon, blushing. "I, uh, well, I would like that, but I don't think Eddie is ready to take that kind of step, but I keep hoping…"

"You have a contract, right?" asked Helen.

"I have a contract with Murkoff for the film, you mean?" asked Waylon.

To her credit, Helen's face barely changed as she seemed to brush away whatever thought had been distracting her. "Nevermind," she said, smiling and shaking her head. "I guess the gutterflies got it wrong after all. They'll make a story out of anything, ya know?"

"Yeah, I suppose," said Waylon, smiling. He felt like he had missed some key part of the conversation. "How's the movie coming along?"

"Excellent," said Helen, beaming. "So exciting. Not shooting for another couple months, I even have an action sequence! I'm going to be on wires and stuff! Stunt doubles, of course, but I'm going to have to get suspended for at least some of the face shots, even if it's just in front of a green screen."

"Awesome," said Waylon, laughing. "Man, I wish our film had more actions scenes."

"I thought there were too many actions scenes," said Helen, smirking. "That was the last story I read, some article about 'what is Mainstream actually about?' and it went on and on about all the graphic sexual acts in the script."

"Oh no," said Waylon, frowning.

"Oh no?" Helen laughed at Waylon's horrified face. "Oh yes, you should be saying. Nothing draws in an audience like a promise of gratuitous sex scenes."

"But it's male on male."

"Did I stutter?" Helen laughed. "Dennis has a really good reputation, he'll show it real—tasteful, but real, and that'll fill the seats, even if the script is shit."

"The script is amazing," said Waylon.

"See? Even better, "said Helen, grinning. "I'm really pulling for you guys, truly. I gotta run, was just grabbing my stuff, my gym schedule is a total bitch right now, they need me to lose another ten pounds and get some definition before filming."

Waylon glanced up and down Helen's perfectly trim body. "Where are you losing it from? Planning on taking off a limb?"

Helen laughed and leaned in to peck Waylon on the cheek. "Give me your phone. I'm going to put in my information. You need anyone to talk to about Eddie, about the business, about anything, hell if you just need someone to show up to a photo-op nightclub downtown you call me. We're friends."

A familiar black limousine pulled up into the driveway while Helen entered her information. David stepped out of the car and waved at Waylon.

"Okay, that's my number me, text me anytime, let's do dinner, we always have fun when we go out."

"You got it," said Waylon, tipping his head to Helen before jogging to meet David. "Hey, is Eddie in there?"

"Mr. Gluskin had an appointment this morning, he'll meet you on set later for shooting," said David, smiling in a way that was more friendly than strictly professional. "He sent me to give you a ride into work."

"But I just got here? Eddie isn't home?"

"No, Mr. Gluskin will be here after you're done at the studio today, he has scheduled to discuss terms of the living arrangement at that time, and strongly encourages you to invite your own lawyer."

"I don't have a lawyer?"

David shrugged, his smile unfaltering. "Only relaying a message, Mr. Park. Just let me know when you're ready to leave."

Waylon bit his lower lip. Everything was too strange. And as tempting as it was to explore the house without Eddie around, there were things they really needed to discuss before Waylon made himself at home.

* * *

Eddie stepped out of his hired car and stalked across the lot of Murkoff Studios. The paparazzi were out in force, cameras clicking like angry insects. They screamed at Eddie, but he only pulled the collar of his overcoat higher. Security rushed to his aid and Eddie made it through the crowd, safely.

Inside, the atmosphere on the set was different. The assistants danced music playing on someone's iPhone, the extras cracked jokes, and Dennis glowed.

"My phone is ringing off the hook," said Dennis, grinning so wide Eddie worried it must be painful. "It's a good thing I work best under pressure. This is gonna be huge for me! My last two films got praise, sure, but no one really saw them. I was worried this one could end up the same way, but if it's got this much attention before wrap? Shit. By the time it's released, we're all gonna be schmoozing the Academy."

"We should focus on making the movie, first," said Eddie.

"Don't be so grouchy! I know you're a private guy, but, Waylon, come on, you two have undeniable chemistry. And look at the guy, I consider myself straight as an arrow, but I kinda wanna fuck him."

Eddie took a menacing step forward. Dennis chuckled, and held up his hands.

"A joke, man, I'm not going to make a move on your boyfriend."

"He's not my…"

"Eddie!"

Eddie turned in time to see Waylon walking up wearing a white, terrycloth robe. His makeup and hair were already done. His skin glowed bright, and his hair was perfectly tousled. Dark eyes dilated when they landed on Eddie in his black suit.

"Are you ready for today?" asked Waylon, smiling. He looked at Eddie as though he were the only person on the crowded set.

"Of course, I'm a professional, darling," said Eddie. "I mean, Waylon."

"My stuff got dropped off at your house before I went into work," said Waylon, bringing up a finger to fidget with a loose curl. "David said we would talk tonight?"

"Yes, I prefer to keep my business and personal life as separate as possible, considering how they're already so intermingled."

"Understood," said Waylon, a cute smirk twisting his mouth. "See you on set."

Eddie grumbled as he walked toward his dressing room.

"Could you please look less angry?" chided Eddie's makeup artist. It was a struggle to sit with his face neutral while the woman prodded and brushed his face.

It was unprofessional to bring personal feelings into work. Eddie needed to focus on Felix's feelings—not his own. The scene that day was another emotional one.

It wasn't difficult to conjure up sad memories.

In private, Eddie hated crying, but for the cameras? He never failed. The only trick was ensuring the amount of tears met only what was required for the scene. Some memories were more traumatic than others. Eddie could not devolve into a sobbing mess if the scene only required a solitary tear down the cheek.

The day's wardrobe was a white tank with the same tired, gold chain. Eddie's makeup made him look considerably more tired than he even felt. The set was a dingy, unmade bed seemingly in the middle of a barren apartment. Eddie accepted a prop bottle from an assistant before sitting heavily on the bed.

Eddie focused on reviewing his lines when his attention was stolen away. Waylon entered the set and let his robe slip from his shoulders. It floated to the ground with a whisper.

The set's lighting mimicked a dark apartment with city lights filtering in through crooked blinds. It cast a dusky glow onto Waylon's silky nightgown. The costume department had either found it in the bottom of a rag bin or purposely destroyed it. The silk was threadbare and stained, one strap torn until the entire nightie lay crooked across Waylon's chest, and the lace trim was frayed.

As they moved through their marks with the crew making adjustments, Eddie kept staring hard at that tattered strap, willing it to fail. A tantalizing flash of matching silk panties underneath the garment teased Eddie, always just out of view.

"Alright, Felix's solo scene is later, let's get the heavy scene done," said Dennis, walking behind the camera. "Waylon, do the lead in, hit the first mark, Randall expects to be shoved away so I need to see the heartbreak, alright, from the entry, places…"

Eddie stared at the ground, delving into Felix's psyche and barely recognizing that Dennis had called action.

"Okay, the door opens, and…"

Waylon entered the area, arms wrapped around his torso, chin kept close to his chest. Eddie flicked his eyes without moving his face, then purposely turned away.

"I'm sorry," said Waylon, as Randall.

Eddie exhaled through his nose, flicking his eyes back briefly, but still unmoving.

"Felix…"

"You dunno tha meaning of tha word," said Eddie, as Felix. "You prob'ly don't even think what you did was wrong."

"It was wrong," said Waylon, voice already strained. "It was wrong, it felt wrong, I hated myself while it happened, the whole time…"

"Because if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you just hate sucking big cocks."

"Don't…"

Eddie tossed the fake bottle toward the prop wall as rehearsed. The idea had been for the prop to shatter harmlessly, but instead, it only produced an extra loud thunk. Eddie slammed his hands on his knees and glared at the ground. Waylon moved forward, closer to the second mark beside the bed.

"Please, just talk to me, I feel horrible enough…"

"How could'ya do it then, Randy?"

"It's the only way," said Waylon, voice breaking quite convincingly. "If I don't wanna keep doing porn forever like you said, I gotta get this part, I gotta…he said I had to convince him how much I wanted it, I had to..."

"Did he force you?" asked Eddie, head snapping up to stare at Waylon. Those were real tears overflowing from brown eyes.

"Not physically," said Waylon, sniffing. He crossed his hands over his chest tighter. "What was I supposed to do? Just tell him, oh wait, nevermind on the movie part? It's different, don't you understand? That wasn't sex to me, it was just playing a part, just an act, so I could make it ahead in this profession, I don't want that guy, I only want you."

"How am I supposed to trust you?" asked Eddie, voice quaking. "How can I…"

His mother was always on the set—always close by. It was in his contract, and it was part of the union's policy for child actors. Eddie saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't turn his head, not with strong hands gripping his face with bruising force.

But he saw his mother. And she saw him. He saw the sorrow there—the pain. And he watched as she ducked her head and pulled the door shut as quietly as possible.

A thick tear ran down Eddie's face. Right on cue. He blinked wetly for a moment before turning misty blue eyes on Waylon.

"I can understand if you're hurt but this is hurting me much more," said Waylon, an open sob coming up, obscuring his next words, "I didn't want it, and I hate myself for doing it, but I did it, and I'm sorry, and I don't want to lose you, but…"

"You yelled at me before, said you're not a whore," said Eddie, blinking away another fat tear. "If that's true, when are you gonna stop letting people treat you like one-stop treating yourself like one."

Waylon cried, shoulders shaking, and he had to bring his hands up to cover his face.

"Waylon, turn more toward camera two, and don't cover your face so much, through the tears Randy can't stop staring at Felix's disappointment," said Dennis from behind the camera.

"I'm snotty again," said Waylon, speaking plainly through the continued tears. He sniffed loudly, staring at Dennis for direction.

"Play through it, I want this film as snotty and raw as possible, keep that energy, Waylon, start from the tears and into the next line."

Waylon nodded at Dennis before turning back to Eddie. He stared hard, eyes glittering in the lighting. A fresh sob bubbled up and he turned toward the camera, rather than away from it.

"Maybe I was wrong-maybe I am a whore," cried Waylon.

"No," said Eddie, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. "You're not, Randy. You're gonna get a part on your own skills, not because of some sleazy asshole. This shitstain is about to regret the day he pressured my client into sex."

Waylon laughed, a broken, tremulous sound. The script called for him to approach the bed, but Eddie was unprepared for Waylon sprinting and jumping into his lap. An oof exhaled from Eddie as he almost fell backward into the false wall.

"Ack," said Waylon, laughing through his tears.

"Try that again, don't lose frame guys," said Dennis.

It took two full attempts and some camera repositioning before Dennis was satisfied with the leap. He carefully choreographed their positions in the frame. Waylon straddled Eddie's lap, arms around his neck, and Eddie sat stoically, not having reciprocated.

"Action…" followed by the loud slap of the clapperboard.

"You're alright, Randy," said Eddie, softly. "I won't let them hurt you like that no more. What kinda agent would I be if I let them hurt you like that…"

The comic jumping mistakes had lightened the mood considerably, but the weight settled back onto their shoulders.

"I didn't want it," Waylon began a quiet mantra, almost a whisper, "I didn't want to, but I had to…"

Eddie gripped Waylon tight to his chest in a crushing hug and felt him devolve into a shuddering, sobbing mess.

Mother saw, and she turned away.

A fresh stream of tears fell down Eddie's face as he stared just to the right of the camera. "I know," said Eddie, softly shushing against Waylon's curls. "I know."

"I hated it," said Waylon, through sobs. Eddie continued to hold him, staring blank-eyed toward the camera. "I hated it, I hated it," Waylon broke off in a high, keening sob.

"I know, baby," said Eddie, rubbing his hands up and down Waylon's back, feeling the silky material bunch and move. The motion was too pleasant not to repeat.

"I did it for you, I did it because I wanted to stay with you, I shouldn't even try, I don't deserve you…"

"Randy, it's okay," said Eddie.

"I'm…," the words choked out raw. Waylon rubbed his face into Eddie's bare shoulder, leaving a wet trail. "No one like you could ever want someone like me."

"You're wrong," said Eddie, softly, nosing against Waylon's curls and smelling styling product and citrus shampoo. He pressed a hard kiss against Waylon's head. "You're wrong, I'm here for you."

"I'm sorry, Eddie," whispered Waylon.

"You're okay," said Eddie.

"Cut, great energy, let's shoot it again using the second version…"

Waylon pulled away just enough that his wet cheek rubbed against Eddie's. He turned his chin enough to push a soft kiss again Eddie's cheek, before pulling away and accepting a towel to wipe his face as another woman crowded in wielding a makeup brush.

Eddie walked to the edge of the stage and accepted his own towel. He wiped himself clean, then paused to look back at Waylon. He sat on a stool as the makeup artist dusted his face with powder, and he was laughing and smiling at an assistant. Eddie stared longer than appropriate.

* * *

The silence in the limousine on the drive home was stifling. The emotional shooting had continued for hours and Waylon had looked almost like a zombie when he shambled out of his dressing room toward the car.

Eddie sighed and turned his entire body on the bench seat until he was facing Waylon. "I apologize, for the strangeness of this situation. If you are having doubts or changing your mind, I am open to discussion."

Waylon turns away from the window, eyes wide as though surprised Eddie was sitting there. "Wha-oh, no, I still want to move in."

Eddie's brow creased in confusion. "You don't seem as agreeable as before."

"Sorry," said Waylon, blowing out a long exhale as he slouched back on the bench seat. His body faced forward, but he turned his head to stare at Eddie. "Just, work, sometimes."

"Work?" asked Eddie, thinking over the scene. It had been rather painful—but they had shot emotional scenes before. Similar scenes, in fact. They always seemed to agitate Waylon.

"This script, man, sometimes just leaves me feeling, I don't know, hopeless," said Waylon, turning his head back toward the window. He had to look up and out due to his poor posture.

Eddie gave a thoughtful hum and prepared to let the topic drop until…

"Do you think what that guy did to Randall was really wrong?" asked Waylon, glancing only out of the side of his eyes. Palm trees and buildings continued to pass by outside the tinted window.

"The…scene from today, the producer that forced Randall into sex in order to get the job?"

"Yeah, but that's the thing," said Waylon, sitting up straighter and turning back toward Eddie. "Forced him? No one forced him, ya know? He wasn't tied down or handcuffed, no one threatened his life, or put a gun to his head. They just told him to do something, and he did it, he didn't even try to talk his way out of it, even though he didn't want to. Instead of walking out, instead of saying 'no,' he just…did it. Is that really forced?"

"Waylon, when someone has leverage over you, and they pressure you into something you did not want to do, that's still coercion. They didn't threaten Randall, physically, but the threat of losing work, or being blacklisted and unable to follow his dream, the monetary hit of being passed over—those are still threats. It's a classic Hollywood quid pro quo. It's near impossible to make it in this town without connections, and if those people hiring or auditioning you are pressure you to do something you don't want to do, it's abuse."

Eddie spoke from a place of experience. An experience that everyone in the world knew about thanks to the press.

Waylon's eyes grew dewy before he turned away and stared back out the window. Eddie considered reaching out, giving Waylon a friendly past on the back. Maybe a half shoulder hug. He would do it for anyone else, but he hesitated. The trailer was suddenly hot in his mind. He needed to behave for this contract to be feasible.

"What's the answer, then?" asked Waylon.

"I'm afraid I don't…"

"What's the answer, for people like Randy? Like, they wanted him to do this stuff, but if he says 'no' then, he just can't even be an actor, he won't have a choice, but if he says 'yes' he gets the job, but he hates himself, and betrays Felix, and himself…"

"I think Randall handled it appropriately," said Eddie, nodding when Waylon's brow ceased. His eyes were wet, but Eddie politely ignored them. Actors tended to be emotional people.

"He handled it well by smiling, and taking it?"

"No, he handled it well by telling Felix, so Felix can drive over there and kicks their asses."

Waylon laughed while reaching up to swipe away a barely noticeable tear. "Yeah, he was lucky to have someone like that."

Eddie frowned as Waylon continued to stare away, wiping his eyes. His shoulders slumped much more than usual. The scene that day had not felt as psychologically challenging to Eddie—but everyone was affected differently.

"Waylon," said Eddie, waiting until Waylon turned his head and met his eyes, framed with wet lashes. "Did something happen?"

"Happen?" asked Waylon, shaking his head and blinking his eyes rapidly. "No, of course not, everything's good."

"Please, listen to me," said Eddie, leaning over to put his hand on top of Waylon's where it rested on the seat, "this is nothing like that."

"What is nothing like…"

"This agreement that we're going to discuss, you living with me, the relationship, it's nothing like that, do you understand?"

Waylon sniffed again and nodded, "Yeah, sure Eddie."

"I'm serious," said Eddie, scooting closer before he could think it through. Perhaps Waylon would see his proximity as intimidating rather than comforting. The soft sigh as Waylon leaned into him dispelled that thought.

"You'll know everything once we arrive at the house and discuss the contract, but you are not expected to do anything you don't want to do," said Eddie. "There's nothing sexual about the agreement. I would never ask you to have sex with me as part of the relationship. I can't apologize enough for what happened in Nevada, it was inappropriate."

"Why was it inappropriate?" asked Waylon, wiping away the last remnants of tears, new focus in his gaze.

"Because we are coworkers, and because I am someone you look up to as a mentor, and perhaps you felt obligated to perform for me because of those reasons, but I promise, it won't happen again."

"That's not what happened, you realize that, right?" asked Waylon, quirking an eyebrow as he leaned until his shoulder was pressing into Eddie's. "I do respect you and all that shit, but like, I wanted that. I want more."

Eddie frowned, leaning casually back against the door opposite Waylon. "I'm hesitant to discuss this without my representation present, but seeming as we're almost to the house and everything will be laid bare in plain language, I'll just let you know now, I don't have romantic relationships."

Waylon's one quirked eyebrow turned into an entire forehead of wrinkles. "Are you trying to be funny?"

Eddie looked out the car window, instead of answering. "We can discuss it at the house."

"You don't have romantic relationships with men?"

"I don't have romantic relationships. Period."

"We had sex…"

"You're in the porn industry, surely you know the difference between sex and romance…"

"Yes, I know the difference, but you're…I mean, Helen, you two seemed happy together, you've dated a new leading lady every year for the past decade, it's always in the magazines, so why would you sit here and lie…"

"I have been in this industry for a long time," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "I have found what works for me, and what doesn't. This works for me. It's not an offer I make to just anyone."

"You're extending the offer to me, though?" asked Waylon.

"Yes."

"Because Jeremy's making you."

"No," said Eddie, smiling softly. "Because you're an actor with a lot of potential that could benefit from the arrangement. It's mutually beneficial for our project, I already know we can spend time together comfortably, and I trust you would be respectful of the contract."

"Helen," said Waylon, mouth going slack. "Helen had a contract with you, you two weren't dating?"

"Correct."

"So you didn't cheat on her with me?" asked Waylon.

"I was in breach of contract if there is a suspicion that either party is being unfaithful it defeats the purpose," said Eddie, sighing. "But I was not cheating on her in a relationship sense, no. We parted on good terms."

"So it's totally fine if we date for real!"

"Which part of this is confusing for you? It's an agreement. There's paperwork involved. Witnesses. Money exchanges hands, no one's dating…"

"You don't have to pay me, I would date you for free."

"The relationship is for our mutual benefit, and the benefit of our project as well. It's a business agreement, it's not romantic in nature."

"But don't you like me?" asked Waylon. The limousine pulled up the driveway to Eddie's estate. The car purred to a stop and David walked out in his suit to open the door.

"I do like you, as a friend and colleague, but I do not date romantically."

"And you're really going to make me sign a contract?"

* * *

It turned out, he really did.

Eddie's dining room in his house was huge with a dark oak table that could seat twenty and cream colored wallpaper on all the walls. Waylon occasionally glanced at himself in an ornate, gold framed mirror that dominated the largest wall.

He looked out of place.

Across the table, Eddie sat with his schooled, neutral expression on his face. His agent, Andrew, watched with sharp eyes and the bad habit of sticking his tongue out as he waited.

Waylon skimmed the document again.

It was different than his contract with Murkoff, or the lease he and Miles had signed. This document was printed off of a home computer it seemed. There were several different pages. Waylon shuffled between them, buying time.

The language was plain. So plain that Waylon worried he was somehow missing some underlying meaning. Something sinister just out of reach. Otherwise, why would Eddie Gluskin need people to sign a business agreement before moving into his house? Some kind of, prenuptial agreement for roommates?

"You seem perplexed," said Eddie, his face still that annoyingly blank expression. The one that tried too hard to hide things.

"Well, yeah the whole thing is perplexing," said Waylon, snorting to himself as he flipped another page on the document.

The contract was simple. Waylon would be given a room in the house, to decorate and use as he chose. His own bedroom and bathroom. In addition, he had freedom of the entire house excepting Eddie's bedroom and office. He was also given an expense account for anything relating to his living and business costs. The wording indicating that Eddie would be offering support, financially and professionally, for the duration of their contract, and following its positive conclusion.

"What do you get out of this?" asked Waylon, meeting Eddie's eyes and ignoring Andrew completely.

"Eddie is a man who values his privacy," said Andrew. "This agreement allows for Eddie to have someone help with that, without taking on the risks of a romantic relationship."

"What's risky about romantic relationships? Afraid you'll what, like the person?" asked Waylon.

Eddie looked to Andrew instead of answering.

"Why not just stay single if you don't want to be hounded?" asked Waylon.

"In the past, when Eddie was single, we experienced our largest spike in interest," said Andrew, his speech sounding almost memorized. "The news agencies assume anyone he appears with is a new romantic interest, there is speculation, prices on his pictures go up, it's uncomfortable. As long as there is an official partner, the press initially stirs, then the interest dies down. Reporters at interviews focus on the relationship, rather than questions that might be less comfortable. And the contract is to ensure that both parties receive benefits without the risk of negative exposure."

"So that's all he gets then, someone to take the heat off of his personal life by putting on some fake show?"

"It's enjoyable to have someone else in the house, as it's quite large," said Eddie, offering a shy smile. Waylon couldn't help his own matching grin. It was the most open expression Eddie had made since they arrived at the house. Though that was likely Waylon's fault, for getting so weepy in the damn limo.

"Can I have visitors over?" asked Waylon.

"Of course," said Andrew, turning a few pages, "all the rules are listed on page three, visitors are all encouraged and allowed, large groups, you just check the master schedule if you plan on being disruptive, and of course, it's imperative that you not date anyone else while under this agreement. You can dissolve the agreement at any time if you decide to enter a relationship with someone else."

"Can I date you?" asked Waylon, smirking at Eddie.

"I wish you would take this seriously," said Eddie, mouth turned slightly down.

"I am taking this seriously, I'm just trying to figure out what the catch is," said Waylon. "I live here, you pay for everything, and the only inconvenience to me is I have to pretend to like you? I mean, I told you already, I do like you, I want to date you, you wouldn't even have to pay me."

"I feel more comfortable knowing the contract is there to protect my interests."

"Your interests because you're afraid your partner might what, sell you out?"

Eddie's grave expression answered for him.

"I wouldn't talk about you to the press, or try to blackmail you or something, I wouldn't do that, I don't want you to hate me, I want you to like me…"

"I am not interested in any long-term romantic relationships."

"What's crossed out on this page?" asked Waylon, tapping the table through the paper.

"You can make any modifications you need before you sign," said Andrew, clearing his throat as he turned to the page in question. His own copy did not have anything blacked out, though Sharpie had been used to erase a sentence at the end of the bottom of the paragraph about house rules. "In the past, some roommates were agreeable to terms regarding closer quarters, bed sharing at times. It was a comfort measure."

"Don't like sleeping alone in this big house, huh?" asked Waylon, his grin sinking into something suggestive.

"There is nothing sexual in the contract, Waylon," said Eddie, frowning. "I share a bed with some of my roommates as a comfort to us both, out of friendship. You would not be faulted for refusing. In this case, I removed it because…"

"Because I'm a dude, and you don't wanna snuggle up to a dude, is that it?"

Eddie opened his mouth then closed it. Then opened it again. Then frowned.

"What if I want to share a bed? I don't like being alone either, I'm used to having a roommate in a tiny one bedroom apartment."

"I thought it would not be prudent, not because you are a man, but because of our…history."

"Because we fucked in the trailer?" asked Waylon.

Andrew had chosen the wrong moment to take a sip of his glass of water, and he erupted into a choking, spluttering fit.

"I did not want you to think this was anything inappropriate," said Eddie, frowning.

"What if we fuck again though? I mean, does that void and null the contract or something? Are you telling me you share your house—your bed, with all these actresses and you don't have sex with any of them?"

"Sex between consenting adults is fine, but it is not reliant on the contract, and any of those encounters also fall under the non-disclosure protection."

"So you do sleep with them?" asked Waylon. Eddie's eyes narrowed, just slightly. "Did you sleep with Helen?"

"Even if I were not under an NDA order for the protection of everyone's privacy, a gentleman would never kiss and tell."

"Uh huh," said Waylon, snorting to himself. A gentleman with his own celebrity sex tape released. Whatever. "I want it added back, I want the option to crawl in bed with you."

"The line was there as an option for later, you can both choose to never do it, or only through agreement by both parties, if Eddie doesn't feel comfortable, then…"

"It's fine," said Eddie, interrupting Andrew. When Andrew gave him a pleading look, Eddie took his own copy of the contract and slid it across the table to Waylon. "This version is the same, minus the blacked out sentence. But it really doesn't matter, it's only an extra precaution in case it becomes an issue in the future. I do not feel comfortable sharing a bed with someone I hardly know."

Waylon shrugged. Hey. Small victories. He accepted the new contract and quickly skimmed it, comparing the paragraphs and spacing with his own copy to ensure Eddie wasn't lying about it being the same.

"So, live here, pretend to date, I don't get the part about the schedule…"

"It's in the kitchen, Mrs. Shields upkeeps it for me, and you can view it anytime or call her," said Eddie.

Andrew glanced at his phone and cleared his throat. Waylon's ass was falling asleep having sat for too long in the uncomfortable dining room chair.

"So you always do this with your partners? You never dated anyone?"

"I haven't dated anyone, without something written and signed, in over ten years," said Eddie.

"Why?" asked Waylon.

"This is what works for me," said Eddie.

"You're only doing this because of Jeremy?"

Eddie sighed and placed his palms flat on the table. "I'm making you this offer, which you are free to refuse. You may stay here tonight, and I will return all of your things in the morning. I am making this offer, not because Jeremy told me to, but because what Jeremy said makes sense. I want Mainstream to be a success, I want it to be considered for an Academy Award, I want this movie to receive the attention it deserves. And if being close to you achieves that goal, then, well," Eddie paused, turning his hands palm up, "there are worse people to have to share a house with."

"You mean it?" asked Waylon, his voice barely audible in the cavernous room.

"Yes," said Eddie, holding eye contact until Waylon felt his insides curling with heat. Their eyes remained locked as Waylon picked up the pen laying on the table near his hand. He clicked it loudly and glanced down at the contract.

"I think you're going to like me as a roommate," said Waylon, the pen scratching as he signed his name to the first of many dotted lines in the packet. "I'm hella fun."

* * *

A/N: I know, this contract seems weird and why does he even need it and how come no one's gone running to the press about how weird it is and what are the finer details but like, much more is answered soon. This chapter was redone to make it REALLY CLEAR what happened with the Jeremy Blaire thing from last chapter since there was a ton of questions. Next chapter: Waylon's first days as a roommate, Waylon and Helen do lunch, and Waylon and Eddie get their first public date!


	11. Chapter 11: For the Cameras

**Chapter 11: For the Cameras**

Mrs. Shields was a severe woman with steel gray hair. She reminded Waylon of the headmistress at an all girl's school. Eddie excused himself to his room, after walking Andrew out of the house, and Waylon was left alone with the house manager.

"I can show you to your room, and give you some time to get settled," said Mrs. Shields, with a polite smile. "Or I can give you a tour of the property."

"TOUR!" said Waylon, laughing like a child. "Tour, oh please, fuck this is so cool."

Waylon's enthusiasm tested Mrs. Shields' polite smile. She managed to maintain her composure as she gestured toward the stairway. Waylon clapped his hands together and rushed to take the stairs, two at a time.

The second floor was decorated as pristinely at the first, looking like a model home inhabited by humans. Waylon almost wept when he saw his bedroom for the first time. There was a large, arched window overlooking the backyard with its hillside view and the tropical landscaping around Eddie's infinity pool.

A large, four-post bed dominated the room with a white comforter so fluffy it could have been made of marshmallows, and enough cushions for an entire soccer team to start a pillow fight. Waylon was afraid to even touch the bed, lest he make everything dirty by his mere presence.

"You're welcome to redecorate as you see fit," said Mrs. Shields, standing at the door with her hands folded while Waylon circled through his new room. His meager boxes and suitcase were already delivered and stacked unopened in the corner.

"Why would I want to redecorate, it's already the nicest room I've ever had in my life, damn," said Waylon, turning around and around like some kinda Disney princess. "What else is up here?!"

The second floor was long hallways with doors and some areas open to the living room below. Eddie's bedroom and study were off limits, but Mrs. Shields pointed them out to help Waylon avoid them. There was also a fully decked out media room with movie theater seating and a giant, flatscreen television.

The rest of upstairs were guest rooms, and a game room with a ping pong table and leather couches. All of the paddles and balls were still encased in plastic. The room looked unused.

"Eddie's not much of a gamer, huh?" asked Waylon.

Mrs. Shields' only response was a polite smile and a motion to follow.

Downstairs was more interesting. Several different sitting rooms and living rooms, all full of art, matching furniture, window treatments, and state of the art electronics. The gym was especially amazing, floor to ceiling mirrored walls with every type of weight machine, free weights, and all other calisthenic tools. The gym looked very used, scuffs on the rubber floor mats, and some of the handles worn down.

Mrs. Shields opened the back doors to show Waylon the pool with connected hot tub. It was glorious. The light rising up from the waters, the quiet trickle of the fountains, and the distant hills twinkling with lights. The pool seemed to stretch away into the twinkling horizon.

"Can I use the pool?" asked Waylon.

"Of course, the cleaners come on Mondays, but every other day is free," said Mrs. Shields.

"Oh, it's not just you then?" asked Waylon.

"I live on the property, I have an apartment near the garage," said Mrs. Shields. "There is a full-time landscaper and chef, though they do not live here. There's also a laundry service, maid service, pool cleaners, grocery delivery, personal trainer, security personnel, and other less frequent attendants. As the property manager, I'm in charge of the schedule. If you have special dietary needs or wish certain food items, add it to the list in the kitchen."

Which turned out to be huge. The food preparation area connected to the sprawling formal dining area where Waylon had signed the contract. The cooking area has more cherry wood cabinets and glittering quartz countertops than one person could possibly need. All of the appliances were stainless steel, and there was little else by way of decoration. The kitchen seemed cold. Sterile.

A large white board listed different meals and times for the remainder of the week, and the next. That evening, dinner was crossed out completely.

"No dinner tonight?" asked Waylon.

"Mr. Gluskin knew you would be meeting, and did not know how long it would take or if you would be staying," said Mrs. Shield. "There are deli sandwiches in the refrigerator. Mr. Gluskin already took his to his room."

"Oh, so he's not coming down?" asked Waylon.

"He indicated he was in for the night, and not to be disturbed," said Mrs. Shields.

"Ah, cool, yeah…"

"Do you need any help unpacking?" she asked after they had circled around to the main entrance area at the bottom of the stairs.

"No, I think I got it," said Waylon, smiling. "Thanks for everything!"

"There's an intercom in almost every room," said Mrs. Shields, gesturing toward a white box on the wall with a few sparse buttons. "Just call if you need anything."

Waylon locked the door once he was alone in his room. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't like Eddie would barge into his personal space—the chances of that happening were probably less than zero. He wasn't afraid of Mrs. Shields, either. She seemed sweet.

No, Waylon was just elated to have some privacy. It had been a long time. He stood in the strange white-on-white room, glancing around. His boxes and suitcase were the only things out of place. He was out of place.

Still, this was as he had agreed. Best to settle in and make the best of the situation.

The next morning, Waylon woke to a mild panic attack when he was alone in a large white room. _Not a hospital_ , he assured himself. A room. Maybe he would redecorate after all.

He showered, brushed, and dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a plain hunter green shirt before rushing downstairs into the kitchen.

Empty.

The refrigerator was stocked with fresh fruit, some sandwiches leftover from the previous evening, and a strange array of beverages. Orange juice seemed safe. Waylon poured himself a glass and stared around the cavernous living area. It echoed with each clink of his glass on the counter.

"Helloooooo?" Waylon paused, listening carefully for anything except his own voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "Echo!"

"Did you need something, Mr. Park?"

"Ack, no, Mrs. Shields, hah, hi," said Waylon, looking around. "Is, uh, Eddie up?"

"Mr. Gluskin is in the gym," said Mrs. Shields, smiling. "Your car is already outside."

"Yeah, uh, I have early shooting, Eddie's not coming?"

"Mr. Gluskin's scenes are later this afternoon."

"Ah, okay, right," said Waylon, shrugging before taking a sip of his orange juice. "I'll see him at work, anyways."

* * *

The first night passed quiet and uneventful, laying to rest some of Eddie's fears about sharing his home with Waylon. Eddie left for work alone. He walked through his lines, shot his scenes, and met with wardrobe for a fitting. Then, it was back to the house, as though nothing had changed in the slightest.

Except when he walked through the door and almost directly into a smiling faced Waylon.

"Hey, Eddie! How was work?" asked Waylon, hovering in the entrance way of the house wearing jeans and a grass green tank top. His hair was a damp mess of blond curls and his face pink and freshly scrubbed. "I missed you on set, today!"

"Likewise," said Eddie, giving a polite smile.

"So, the schedule says that dinner's at six, so you're just in time, what're we having?" asked Waylon, grinning even wider.

"We?" asked Eddie, raising an eyebrow. "I apologize, I instructed Mrs. Shields to tour the house and explain the schedule in the kitchen."

"Oh, she did, your house is awesome, by the way, and she told me about the schedule and today's dinner is at six," said Waylon, his smile falling, only a little.

"Yes, and tonight my dinner is with my usual group of friends, we meet together once a week," said Eddie. His expression was sincere, as though he really did regret the misunderstanding. Waylon likely knew he was acting, because his own reflected expression was one of barely concealed disappointment.

"You want some company? I clean up hella nice," said Waylon.

"No, thank you," said Eddie, his smile becoming tight, more forced. "I value my private time with my friends."

"I thought part of this contact was that we were supposed to go out in public, together?" asked Waylon.

"And we shall," said Edie, nodding. "Currently, the reporters are salivating over your big move into my house. We'll leave it at that for a while. And my friends and I keep our dinners private, so there won't be any press to speak of, and wouldn't make much sense to attempt to posture a publicity stunt at a secretive meeting."

"Ah, gotcha," said Waylon, chuckling. "Um, have fun, then! I'll see you later?"

"Don't wait up," said Eddie, walking toward his room to freshen up for dinner. "That's a serious request, not an empty statement. Don't wait up."

"Got it," said Waylon.

Eddie glanced back at the top of the stairs and caught Waylon staring blank faced at the ground.

Well? What had the man expected? There was a schedule for a reason. Any time together would be scheduled and agreed by both parties. This was not really a relationship.

Eddie's hope that his friends would prove a good distraction from his new roommate problem was dashed immediately upon arrival. He was used to their teasing about his love life, but for some reason, teasing about Waylon felt too raw. Too new. Maybe he should have stayed in and had dinner with Waylon, instead.

It was past midnight when Eddie walked through the side door and attempted to sneak into the living room. Someone had left the television on, full volume.

" _The movie_ Mainstream _is still in the filming process, but already rumors abound about Eddie Gluskin and his costar, Waylon Park. Park, better known as Benny Jetts in the porn industry, was cast opposite Gluskin in the upcoming film about a porn actor's struggle to become a mainstream actor. The two characters portrayed are involved in a romance."_

Images on the screen showed paparazzi video footage of Eddie leaving and entering the studio and separate shots of Waylon looking exceptionally frightened running away from the cameras. A single chuckle escaped before Eddie could catch it.

A fluff of blond curls peeked over the high back of the living room sofa and a bare foot. Eddie walked into the room for a closer view.

Waylon had managed to fall asleep with the television on, full blast, with one leg slung over the back of the couch, and the other falling to the ground, leaving his legs splayed obscenely. He wore a faded gray T-shirt with the word "COCKTEASE" peeling across the chest in a block font usually reserved for sports apparel. His red, cotton shorts were entirely too short.

" _Sources close to Gluskin report that his last relationship with Helen Granat, his costar from_ Shallow Tides _, has ended amicably, and Park was seen moving into the star's Bel-Aire home this week. There has been no confirmation or denial about a relationship from Murkoff or the two stars, but these two have been careful to avoid being seen in public since the rumors began circulating."_

With a heavy sigh, Eddie leaned over the couch and grabbed the remote. Waylon's over-sized shirt had ridden up, leaving his soft tummy bare and the remote lay on the visible skin where it had fallen out of Waylon's slack hand. When Eddie grabbed it, Waylon shot upright with a start.

"M'awake," said Waylon.

"Obviously," said Eddie. He pointed the remote and _clicked_ before tossing it onto the other end of the couch. "It's late, and we're scheduled to shoot early tomorrow. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in your own bed?"

"Be more comfortable in _your_ bed…" Waylon stretched like a cat and made a strange, moaning grunt. "Carry me."

"Absolutely not."

"But I'm so tiiiiiired…"

"Goodnight, Waylon," said Eddie, walking toward the stairs.

"Wait, hold up," said Waylon, bumping into the coffee table in his clumsy attempt to stand up. "Fuck, foot's asleep, hey, I gotta ask…"

Eddie sighed and waited for Waylon to limp over, dragging one foot. "Make it quick? I need to make a phone call before bed, and I'm exhausted."

"Sorry, sorry, um, I was wondering, since we're shooting together, maybe we could ride to work together? Like old times?" Waylon grinned, brown eyes still far too sleepy.

Eddie paused, lips pursed together as he hummed. When Waylon said it, it sounded so simple. Carpooling. Good for the environment. Economical.

Except there would be concrete proof in the tabloid world that Eddie Gluskin and Waylon Park were at least leaving from the same place, in the same care, and driving to work, together. Was it too soon?

"I'll talk to Jeremy about it," said Eddie, turning to walk up the stairs. He saw a confused Waylon follow him up the stairs with his eyes, but Eddie was already late. He hurried to the sanctuary of his study and locked the door behind himself.

"You're late."

"Blame the walking distraction that just moved into my place, disrupting my once peaceful home," said Eddie.

"Stop fucking him for two seconds, and make the phone call at the time we agreed upon?" asked Jeremy.

Eddie made no reply; Jeremy hadn't expected one.

"Aright, shooting's on schedule, there's only about a month of studio time booked, not counting any reshoots. I'm going to fast track the editing, but this could be tricky to keep up a relationship this long if you can't be on board."

"I'm on board," said Eddie, closing his eyes. "He wants to carpool to work tomorrow. Will that be a good photo opportunity?"

"I like it," said Jeremy, and Eddie could hear the _tap tap_ of a pen against a surface as he thought. "Good. It's ambiguous. Did one get picked up? Did they sleep over at the same place? Are they really living together, permanently? Oh, that's good, yes, drive to work together But, it's not enough."

"It's not enough?" asked Eddie, eyes opening to stare at his organized desk. "Then, what? An official statement? Should we give an interview?"

"God, Eddie, how are you still so bad at this?" asked Jeremy with a derisive snort. "We just need you two, out in public, together, with some questionable forms of PDA so the tabloids can try to capture a moment. That'll get the tongues good and wagging. I got just the place, my friend opened up a new place, it's all organic, trendy, and well lit. It's perfect. I'm getting you reservations for Wednesday night, it's non-negotiable."

* * *

There was something exciting and familiar about getting showered, dressed, and rushing out to jump into the limousine with Eddie. The friendly smile that greeted him set Waylon's insides to squirming.

"Morning, Eddie," said Waylon, sitting down as David snapped the door closed behind him. He wore a pair of fitted khaki pants and a faded blue shirt. "Sleep well?"

"Of course," said Eddie, smiling. Even first thing in the morning, he looked sharp in a cream sports coat over a black shirt and gray slacks. "You're still finding the bedroom to your liking, I hope?"

"Oh yeah, that bed is so comfortable, it's ridiculous," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. "Have to pinch myself every time I wake up, to be sure I'm not still dreaming, it's all so amazing."

"I'm glad the accommodations are acceptable," said Eddie, reaching into his coat pocket and retrieving his phone. "I needed to discuss with you dinner plans for tomorrow evening."

"Oh, shit, I keep forgetting to check the schedule, you have something else? Another…friend dinner?"

"We have reservations to appear out, together, on a formal date," said Eddie, unlocking his phone with his fingertip. "It's important that we both attend, and this will be a public event. Per the contract, we will have dinner, conversation, and light displays of affection."

"Light displays of affection?" said Waylon, snorting. "So what's that, like, over the clothes fondling?"

Eddie's eyes flicked away from his screen to meet Waylon's. He looked decidedly unpleased.

"So, just first base then?" asked Waylon.

"That depends on your definition of first base," said Eddie, tapping at his phone screen.

"Same as everyone else, I would think," said Waylon.

"There's not some modified porn version?" asked Eddie, still glued to his screen.

"Hah, no, first base is first base, no matter what your profession," said Waylon, grinning. "Kissing. Wanna practice?" Waylon leaned over on the bench and fluttered his lashes at Eddie.

"You really have to behave," said Eddie, sighing as he relaxed onto the seat. "In the past, I've never been one for public displays of affection. I'm not sure how promiscuous you are accustomed to being, but…"

"Promiscuous?" asked Waylon, turning sideways in his seat. "You think I'm promiscuous? What gives you that idea?"

Eddie's flat stare carried the weight of judgment Waylon was accustomed to receiving—but not from Eddie.

"I'm not promiscuous," said Waylon, heat flashing in his eyes. "That…that's a dick thing to say, it hurts. Don't assume shit about me. I'm loyal when I'm in a relationship."

"And have you had many relationships?" asked Eddie, his tone clipped and polite.

"Some," said Waylon.

"While you were shooting pornography?" asked Eddie.

"That's different—that's work," said Waylon, unable to stop his frown. "Do your girlfriends get jealous when you kiss another woman on set?"

"That's different—that's…" Eddie stopped when he realized he was repeating Waylon's words. "I apologize, I don't know much about that industry."

"It's fine. I'm used to it," said Waylon, as the car lurched to a stop. "So listen, if we're not having dinner until Wednesday, what's on the schedule for tonight?"

* * *

"Okay, listen, I need the spinach salad, but keep the dressing on the side, and the salmon, make sure that's prepared with absolutely no butter and no oil, don't even salt it, in fact, barely cook it, just give me the protein and...please, get this bread off the table? Why are you torturing me like this? Can you, just..."

Waylon reached across the table and placed both of his hands on top of Helen's, pushing them onto the white clothed tabletop. "It's okay, Hell."

"And, to drink?" asked the waiter/aspiring actor, grabbing the bread basket.

"We'll both stick with water," said Waylon, smiling as the waiter quickly tucked his notepad away and fled. "Jeez, Helen, you gotta be nicer to the people serving your food."

"I'm sorry, but it's been weeks since I had a carb, and longer since I had a drink. I'm losing my damn mind here," said Helen, grabbing her water and taking long gulps.

"You look awesome," said Waylon. It was true. Helen's face glowed, her hair looked freshly highlighted with bright white streaks in her blonde hair, and the sundress she wore had a plunging neckline that highlighted her best assets. "You've been working out, I can tell, your arms look great, I bet you could bench me."

"I could totally bench you, you're scrawny," said Helen.

"I'm not scrawny," said Waylon, pushing out his lower lip. He instinctively reached for the bread basket, then remembered Helen had sent it away. "I suppose I could stand to gain a few pounds. Put on some bulk. Get them gains."

"Just work out with Eddie, that guy's insane about it," said Helen, draining the last of her water glass. She glared at the remaining ice.

"You think he would mind?" asked Waylon.

"Nah, he was always nice about me using the gym, and I like to work out with other people around, otherwise I just won't do it," said Helen, laughing at her own joke. "My personal trainer right now is a beast, but his workouts remind me of working out with Eddie. Guy knows his stuff."

"He is in exceptionally good shape," said Waylon, sighing.

Helen giggled, her nose scrunching up like a rabbit and giving her a much younger look. "You're so cute. Like a schoolboy with a crush."

"Is it that obvious?"

"It's been obvious since day one," said Helen, smirking. "But whatever, I'm sure Eddie's used to it."

"He has a lot of admirers," said Waylon. "That's why I'm so confused about this contract thing."

Helen ducked her head and quickly looked around the room as though Waylon had just admitted to being the Black Dahlia killer or the second gunman on the grassy knoll. "Would you keep it down?!"

"What? It's not big deal, you said, we both signed it, right?" asked Waylon.

"Yeah, but Eddie would be livid if word got out," said Helen, keeping her voice just above a whisper. Nevermind that the restaurant they had chosen was reservation only and used to picky Hollywood clients. Or that Helen had known to insist on a table in a back corner away from other diners. She still seemed incredibly on edge.

"The last thing I want is for anything to get out that would hurt Eddie, but I mean, what is the harm? What would happen to you-to him? If this has really been going on for years, how the hell does it stay so secret?"

"Because Eddie Gluskin is literally one of the best assets to have in your corner in this town," said Helen, her tone as though explaining something obvious to a child. "I got this part because of Eddie, and if I need his help in the future, he'll make calls for me, he knows people, and if he doesn't know them he knows someone who knows them.

"I don't know who the first contracted roommate was, I knew better than to ask anything like that, but I do know that River Steele, who dated him almost ten years ago, still calls him, regularly. He's the godfather of her oldest son, Eddie wrote a letter to get them into some swanky private school just recently.

"Eddie's contract, even after it ends, he keeps his friends happy," said Helen. "Any payout from a story embarrassing him, wouldn't be worth losing him as an ally."

"So everyone keeps quiet because he pays them off?"

"I can't speak for all of them, I don't even know who they are, but I know in my case, I owe him the biggest role of my career, I owe him the connections he got me at Murkoff and at Warner Brothers, and he paid for these babies," Helen paused to push out her unnaturally perky chest.

"Oh yeah?" asked Waylon, forcing down a surge of jealousy. "He take 'em out for a test drive?"

Helen snickered to herself. "You know, after he asked me to move in, and I read the contract, I still figured he was gonna wanna have sex, ya know? Even when he said it wasn't about sex, I didn't believe him. But he really..." Helen holds up her hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know, maybe I'm just not his type. Maybe he's into..." Helen's eyes raked up and down Waylon's collared shirt over jeans ensemble.

"You think he's gay?" asked Waylon.

"I won't even pretend to know anything about Eddie Gluskin's sexuality, we rarely talked about anything past work and the weather, but he definitely seemed shaken by your attention. He's never that way when I was around. I've seen all manner of women flirt with him, famous, young, beautiful, talented, and there were definitely men that made their interest known. None of them made him get nervous. You did."

Waylon took a sip of water to avoid the proud smile trying to bubble out.

The waiter chose that moment to return with a bottle of still water he proceeded to refill the glasses and informed them that their entrees were on the way shortly.

"Did you two really fuck?" asked Helen.

Waylon's back went rigid, and he stared at the tablecloth to avoid looking guilty.

"You don't have to tell me," said Helen, picking up her glass and holding it in front of her lips. "Good for you, Way." She smirked before taking a short sip. "Good for him, Lord knows that guy needs to loosen up a bit."

"Why does he do it?" asked Waylon.

Helen shrugs, fiddling with her cloth napkin in her lap. "I have suspicions, but no idea, really. Someone like him should have no trouble finding someone great and settling down."

"I told him that, too," said Waylon, fidgeting with the row of cutlery. "I offered to date him for free, he said no thanks. I mean, if it's just to get someone to warm his bed..."

"We never had any heartfelt talks about it, but from what I can tell, it seems to be about keeping up appearances and keeping the press off his ass," said Helen.

"The press is always around him, though, no matter who he's dating."

"Do some Google-fu, man," said Helen, grinning at Waylon. "Go check out the interviews that he gives, and it all kinda makes sense. When Eddie's single, people tend to ask him about 'when are you gonna settle down' or 'how do you feel you've changed as a child actor' and 'how did you move past your arrest record to become a working actor.' Then, check out an interview when he's in a relationship. 'Are you two getting serious? Any chance you'll be engaged? Are you ready to settle down? What kind of vacations are you planning?' It's all much much different."

"So he pays off some people to enjoy the single life without having to deal with the public interest," said Waylon.

"I mean, maybe, it makes sense, kinda, right?" asked Helen. "Look at the people he picks, they're usually just getting started, people he can help, who would be so grateful they are unlikely to sell him out."

But with Waylon, it was even simpler. Jeremy Blaire had strongly recommended that Eddie consider Waylon for his new roommate. Not only was their partnership to help Eddie stave away the press, but also to boost the popularity of their movie. To help Murkoff's bottom line. Perhaps it had been similar with Helen and their shared project.

"I like him, Helen," said Waylon, daring to meet her eyes across the table. "I really wish he could like me, too."

"You know what my advice for that is?" asked Helen, gesturing with her hand. Waylon followed her gesture and saw the waiter returning with their order. She smiled sweetly at their server before addressing Waylon. "Forget about that pipedream, and be happy with what you've got, kid."

"Thanks, looks great," said Waylon, noting that Helen's salad and salmon seemed perfectly cooked to her specifications. His own BLT looked much more appetizing. Helen stared at it, longingly, eyes blown and lips parted.

"Sometimes you see things you want, but it's for the best if you just admire them, from a distance," said Helen, licking her lips without ever glancing away from Waylon's sandwich. "Especially if your job and livelihood depend on it."

* * *

"What is this place?" asked Waylon.

"I'm not sure," said Eddie, glancing up from his phone, "Jeremy made the reservation. I believe it's organic, seafood dishes, whatever that means."

Waylon hummed and turned to stare out the window. The limousine pulled up next to a tall building and came to a stop. The sound of David's door opening and shutting rattled the car.

"I hope they have clam chowder," said Waylon, rubbing his hands together.

"Why?" asked Eddie.

"It's one of my favorites," said Waylon, grinning childishly.

The door opened, and David waited patiently as Waylon and Eddie exited the car. Eddie walked toward the door, tugging at the sleeves of his suit jacket as he walked. Waylon followed in his tight, black slacks and satiny gray shirt. A line of cars circled around the building, and a doorman held the glass paned door wide open for them.

"That's Eddie Gluskin!" shouted someone in the throng of people waiting near the cars. Lights flashed and a rabble of voices rose around them. Eddie remained calm and collected, turning around to take Waylon's hand and pull him through the door.

"Sorry," muttered Waylon.

"Ignore them," said Eddie. He held Waylon's elbow as they walked toward a sign announcing the elevators.

"But I thought we came here to make it obvious that we were, ya know, dating?"

"And nothing screams 'we are faking this for the press' quite like pausing to do something completely unnatural in front of the cameras," said Eddie, shrugging. "The photographers expect us to want our privacy. We have to pretend to want to avoid them. And then we allow them a few intimate shots to sell to the gossip rags, earning them a buck, and us a headline. It's a symbiotic relationship."

"I like that, symbiotic," said Waylon, nodding as they walked. "We're like the sharks, and they are like the parasitic barnacles, eating our shit."

"Absolutely nothing like that," said Eddie. They arrived at the elevators, and Eddie hit the button and stood statue still until the bell _dinged_.

"Why is it nothing like that? I thought you hated gossip reporters?"

"I do," said Eddie, putting his arm in front of the automatic door until Waylon was fully inside of the car. "It's the principle. I dislike people selling my private life, but I understand that I'm a celebrity because people are interested in my private life. The day they stop caring is the day I stop getting work. I appreciate my fans, but they don't seem to understand how much these stories bother me. Or maybe they just don't care."

"I used to buy up any magazine that had you on the cover," said Waylon, right before the elevator rang again. "I feel bad, now."

"Everyone does it, don't feel bad," said Eddie, holding his arm out again, until Waylon had fully exited.

"So, if we're not putting on a show for the cameras," said Waylon, frowning as Eddie led him down the hallway by the elbow toward the restaurant entrance.

"We _are_ putting on a show for the cameras," said Eddie, frowning.

"But, we aren't going to make out in front of them or anything?"

"Of course not," said Eddie, sounding rather scandalized. "We're up here to share a nice meal, and make it clear we enjoy spending time together."

"But how is that supposed to make headlines?"

"You'll see," said Eddie, smirking.

The pair walked into the restaurant. Eddie spoke quietly with the maitre d' and soon they were led to a tiny table for two right beside the floor to ceiling windows with a spectacular view of downtown Los Angeles.

The waiter was already poised by their table with menus, drink suggestions, and the daily specials before Eddie gallantly stepped in and ordered a bottle for the table and an order of crab chowder for Waylon's appetizer, and two of the daily catch for their entrees.

"Thank you," said Waylon, fighting to keep his emotions in check. Yes, Eddie had ordered for him. Eddie was treating him kindly. But it was all for show.

 _Be happy with what you've got…_

The wine arrived first, followed shortly by the soup. Waylon sat awkwardly sipping his glass. It was much dryer than he would usually order. He fought away a grimace at the taste.

Eddie frowned and took his own small sip. "You prefer something sweeter?"

"This is pretty dry," said Waylon, grinning. "It makes my tongue itch."

"I prefer red, but it's recommended to pair white with sea food," said Eddie, shrugging before taking another sip.

"So what, order what you want," said Waylon, frowning, "just because some self-appointed expert decided you should drink this with seafood we have to suffer?"

"No one's making you drink anything, order whatever you like," said Eddie, his smile forced.

"No, it's fine," said Waylon, sighing. "I just thought since you're a big star maybe you get to eat whatever you want, do whatever you want…I was expecting a big night on the town."

"This is a very desireable restaurant, I only got the reservation because Jeremy dropped that I would be bringing my rumored boyfriend. It's almost guaranteed they have their own press connections stationed in the room."

"Yeah, except we're over here in the corner, by the window, where no one can…"

A sharp movement caught Waylon's eye and he paused, turning his head. A diner, several tables away, quickly pulled up a drink menu and buried his head behind its pages.

Waylon gaped and stared.

"Stop staring," warned Eddie, eyes flashing. "If they know we know we're being watched, it all means less. We have to kiss when _they_ think that _we_ think the cameras aren't on."

"We kissed a couple of times when the cameras weren't looking," said Waylon.

Eddie cleared his throat and tugged at his shirt collar. "Usually, the cameras are rolling."

"They weren't at your house," said Waylon, a devilish smile appearing, "we weren't on camera when you followed me into my trailer, the time I dropped to my knees to…"

The waiter arrived with a fresh basket of bread, which Eddie accepted with a patient smile.

"No one's listening to us now, you know," said Waylon, grinning as he brought a spoon to his lips and slurped chowder. It was white, creamy, and full of delicious chunks of fresh crab. Waylon moaned lips around the spoon. "Holy shit, taste this."

Waylon scooped up a large spoonful he was certain contained chunks of clam and held it across the small table. He held his other hand under the spoon to catch any drippings. Eddie scowled.

"This is hardly proper, you'll make a mess…"

"Oh, fuck proper, eat my damn chowder," said Waylon, chuckling.

Eddie met his eyes and frowned as he opened his mouth and accepting the spoonful of soup. He chewed for several seconds still scowling, before his face slowly relaxed into something more pleasant.

"See?" asked Waylon, taking another large bite. "Delicious, right?"

"Quite enjoyable," agreed Eddie.

"You know what else is quite enjoyable?" asked Waylon, taking another bite and drawing out the act of pulling the spoon out of his mouth. He chased the spoon with his tongue while watching Eddie's face.

"Could you please treat this like you would any other date," said Eddie, forehead creasing.

"Oh, sure," said Waylon. Seconds later, Eddie felt a socked foot nudging his calf, rubbing up and down on his slacks. Eddie pushed his chair back further from the table and glared. "I'm out of practice, I told you-I don't date much. What do normal people even do on dates? You wanna, talk about work?"

"I was at work with you, I know what happened at work," said Eddie.

"Then, I don't know, tell me your hopes and dreams," said Waylon.

"What's the point?" asked Eddie.

"To make conversation!"

"I meant more, what's the point of having them, in general," said Eddie.

"Hey now, that's a shit way of thinking," said Waylon, grinning. "I hope and dream that this movie does well, I get to attend some Hollywood parties and get some new jobs. Big screen, small screen, community theater I don't care, man, I just want to do something where I keep my clothes on."

"I also hope that your dreams come true," said Eddie.

"I had dinner with Helen," said Waylon, sipping his wine.

"Helen Granat?"

"Yep," said Waylon, putting the glass down. When his eyes landed on Eddie, he didn't look upset, or worried, or anything else Waylon might have suspected. He also didn't look like he was putting on any kind of act. Legitimately unconcerned.

"Helen is a fine woman, I trust you had a nice dinner," said Eddie.

"I'd rather have dinner with you, though," said Waylon.

"We are having dinner."

"I meant like, I want to have dinner, I want to schedule a dinner that's actually me and you, not anything like this, don't get me wrong, I'm having a good time, but I mean, real dinner date. Me and you."

"I'll speak with Mrs. Shields about adding it to the schedule," said Eddie.

Entrees arrived and the conversation easily flowed through the quality of the food, favorite eating habits, and both men admitted to being horrible at cooking for themselves. It was easier to talk to Eddie when Waylon wasn't constantly stressing about what he was supposed to be doing, and instead focused on whatever he wanted to be doing.

By the time dessert was presented, Waylon had almost forgotten the entire scene was or the cameras. Eddie shifted his chair closer to Waylon's side of the table and reached for a clean fork.

Waylon froze and stared, his heart immediately kicking into top gear. Eddie noticed the change and raised an eyebrow.

"I thought we could share a dessert. It looks romantic."

"Whaaaat," said Waylon, pouting. "I thought you didn't order anything because you didn't want anything, this cheesecake is _mine_."

"You can share," said Eddie, fighting his own grin. "That piece is huge."

"You could afford to get your own," said Waylon, holding his hands up protectively around the creamy slice of cake with its strawberry and whipped cream garnishes.

"Darling…"

Eddie realized the slip but remained leaning close. Waylon couldn't resist leaning closer and smiling, "You stopped calling me that, I thought."

"It's a habit…"

"I like it," said Waylon, the smallest smile lighting up his face. He remained still, watching as Eddie forked the tip of the slice and brought it up slowly to Waylon's lips. He closed his eyes and moaned softly at the taste. "So good."

When Waylon opened his eyes, Eddie was still close, eyes focused on Waylon's lips and cheeks slightly pink. It was easy to lean forward and push his lips against Eddie's, closed and sweet.

 _Snap click snap._

Seconds ticked by with neither moving away, lips close enough to feel each exhale. Even the waiter's arrival couldn't interrupt the moment.

"Check please," said Eddie.

* * *

A/N: Miles is about to get super pissed, Waylon plans a romantic night for them, and they shoot some really cute scenes for the movie 3


	12. Chapter 12: Warm Up

**Chapter 12: Warm Up**

"Morning, sugarpie."

"Unnnnngh whaaaat…" Waylon rolled over in bed, unsure when he had answered his phone. "Miles?"

"I'm looking at you right now," said Miles, making a low growling noise. "Not your best side, but still hot."

Waylon bolted upright in his bed and looked around his room. White. Unfamiliar. Dark. Definitely empty.

"What are you playing at, it's waaaaay too early for this shit."

"You're everywhere, muffin," said Miles, "Not even just the gossip shit, I'm talking _Good Morning, America_ doing a segment on these pictures of you and fucking Eddie Gluskin, kissing and feeding each other like some kinda disgusting rom-com nightmare…"

"Oh," said Waylon, laying back down with a heavy thud into his pillow. "Yeah, so what? You know we're living together. We're dating."

"Don't play dumb, you know what I do for a living, and we've lived together, you know exactly how this shit works," said Miles. "This restaurant? They tipped off a photographer, they get a part of the sale of these pictures…"

"Of course they did," said Waylon. Eddie had said as much the night before. "Who cares? We weren't trying to hide it, obviously. It's not a big deal."

"It's a huge fucking deal to me," said Miles, voice raising enough that Waylon had to pull the phone away from his ear. "You know how much they got for those pictures? That could have been _me_ getting that cash, and you could have been the one that tipped me off and got paid!"

"I'm not trying to make cash off of Eddie, and we're not having this conversation," said Waylon, sighing into the receiver.

"Won't you at least just consider…"

"Bye Miles…"

* * *

"Eddie?" Waylon's voice rang through the cavernous downstairs. "You home?"

Eddie sighed and stared down at the interview questions he was in the process of reviewing. He considered not answering the calls. Maybe even hiding beneath his desk.

"Upstairs," said Eddie, putting his elbows on his desk, and dropping his face into his hands. He listened as Waylon's footsteps raced up the stairs and down the hallway.

"You're in your study?" asked Waylon.

No answer was required when Waylon's smiling face appeared in the doorway. He wore a shirt that may once have been red but had faded to almost rose with a black printed skull on the front, over a pair of light khaki board shorts.

"Found ya," said Waylon, grinning.

"Indeed," said Eddie, sitting back in his chair. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I just had a quick thing I wanted to see," said Waylon, beaming. He looked cautiously around the study for a moment. "Mind if I come in?"

Eddie nodded and waved his hand. Waylon clapped as he rushed into the study, walked around the desk, and stood next to Eddie and his computer.

"What is it you wish to see?" asked Eddie.

"So, I don't have a computer, but I was using my phone to Google myself, for the first time in a really long time, and you're never going to believe this," Waylon paused to take a deep breath, building up the anticipation. "The first hit on my name…it isn't porn! Can you believe it?!"

Eddie raised an eyebrow as he turned in his chair, taking in Waylon's wildly smiling face.

"This is a good thing?" asked Eddie.

"Of course! The first result is about _Mainstream_ , and us dating, of course, but at least it's not about my porn career or anything," said Waylon, laughing. "I thought it'd take years before my porn wouldn't be my defining characteristic. I'm on my way to being a real actor."

"I'm happy for you," said Eddie, smiling politely. "I wasn't aware that Googling was so important."

"Oh, yeah, definitely important to Google yourself," said Waylon, nodding. "I used to Google myself every day, sometimes multiple times a day, but I kinda grew out of it, and now I just Google myself when I get some downtime, alone with a computer, and…"

"We're still talking about searching for oneself online, correct?" asked Eddie.

Waylon laughed, nose crinkling and dimples winking. "Duh, what else would it be? How often do you 'Internet search' yourself?"

Eddie paused, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I can't recall ever having Googled myself. I'm sure my agents have. I've read plenty of articles about myself, but they were usually sent to me directly through my email. I don't make it a point to go digging up gossip about myself. It only serves to irritate me."

"Oh, that's no fun," said Waylon, grinning down at Eddie. "May I?"

Eddie raised an eyebrow, confused until Waylon gestured at the keyboard to Eddie's ancient desktop computer. The screen was currently locked with an endless display of colored confetti exploding across the background.

"By all means," said Eddie, swishing his wrist toward the keyboard with a flourish.

Waylon giggled as he physically moved the keyboard to be more comfortable, and proceeded to access the Internet. "Internet Explorer? Eddie, that's embarrassing…"

"What is that embarrassing?" asked Eddie.

The generic Google search page popped up as the home page. There were no bookmarks. No recent searches. Not even a Desktop wallpaper. "I can tell you use this computer a lot," said Waylon.

"I don't," said Eddie, frowning.

"It was sarcasm," said Waylon, snickering to himself. His fingers were a blur as he typed into the search bar: Waylon Park. The computer lagged, briefly, while the computer parsed the information. Then, "Tada!"

Eddie stared at the results on the screen. The number one option was an article from the Hollywood Insider, " _Life Imitates Art: The Star of_ Mainstream _Goes Mainstream._ "

"It's exactly how Jeremy said it'd be," said Eddie, muttering to himself. "I hate it when Jeremy's right."

"That guy's disgusting," said Waylon, shivering where he stood.

"Agreed." Eddie's attention was back on the screen as he scanned over the other results. The rest of the links all seemed pornographic in nature. Profiles and video recommendations for Waylon Park/Benny Jetts. One caught Eddie's eye. A YouTube video titled " _TALK DIRTY: Interview with Benny Jetts(Waylon Park)_." The channel was "SFW PornStarz."

"You really should search yourself, sometime," says Waylon, grinning as he puts his hands back on the keys. "I wonder what your top search is…something about Executioner, I bet. There's probably a thousand fangirl pages with all your pictures and screenshots and fanart…"

"Fanart?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, yeah, there's gotta be a ton of fanart of the Executioner, you wanna go find some?" asked Waylon. He was already typing into the search bar before Eddie could complain. _Executioner Fanart._

Thumbnails immediately appeared on the screen, ranging from professional artists to childish crayon drawings. The most common theme seemed to be the Executioner, in his black hood carrying his signature ax, and making romantic gestures towards…

"What's a ship?" asked Eddie.

"Like, a relationship," said Waylon, smirking.

"People ship the Executioner with MetalNeck?"

"Yeah, sure," said Waylon, laughing.

"But that makes no sense—they're enemies."

"Makes it all the most angst-riddled and amazing," said Waylon.

"The Executioner _kills_ MetalNeck," said Eddie.

"I bet it broke his heart to have to end his boyfriend like that!"

"I don't like this search," said Eddie, grumping.

"Fine, we can just do a search for you instead," said Waylon. He had already hammered "Eddie Gluskin" into the search bar before Eddie could protest.

Eddie didn't need to search for himself to have guessed what would come up in the top results. There was his Internet Movie Database page, his Wikipedia page, and then the articles. _Eddie Gluskin Court Battle Continues Against his Abusers_. _Child Actor, Eddie Gluskin, Molested_. _Hollywood's Dark Secrets: Child Stars Abused. 'The Executioner' arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. Eddie Gluskin SEX TAPE UNCENSORED._

Waylon stared at the results, all earlier enjoyment drained from his face. He attempted to quickly close the window and instead opened one of the articles.

A photograph appeared on the screen of Eddie around seven years old. He was missing one of his front teeth, his hair slicked back and wearing overalls over a striped shirt. Either side was bracketed by the two actors that played his uncle and father on the television show, _A Family Of Our Own_. And the caption. "'They were like my real dad and uncle,' said Eddie Gluskin of his abusers."

The window closed and Waylon sat breathing heavily, afraid to turn and look at Eddie. "Um, fuck, I'm so sorry about that…"

Waylon blushed over his entire neck and cheeks. He was frozen, hand on the mouse and back hunched over.

"It's alright," said Eddie, softly. He put his hand on top of Waylon's on the mouse and gave a small squeeze. "I'm used to seeing those articles. I know what's out there. I just choose not to read it. Hence why I don't perform these types of searches about myself."

"I'm sorry," said Waylon, and this time his voice was tremulous.

"Please, put it out of your mind," said Eddie, smiling gently, still holding Waylon's hand. "I'm very glad you found a prominent article about yourself on your search. It's the first of many, Waylon."

"You never talk about it," said Waylon, frowning. "You know, you don't have anything to be ashamed about, that wasn't your fault-that was someone abusing your trust. You were a kid, it wasn't your fault at all, and…"

"I know," said Eddie. "It's fine, Waylon. I don't avoid talking about it because it's an open wound. I don't talk about it because I am tired of talking about it. I've spoken to countless professionals, reporters, authors, friends, and family. I went through decades of unhealthy coping, but I'm in a good place now. I've found what works for me. You've been here a week, do I seem unbalanced?"

"No," said Waylon, tilting his head. "Well."

Eddie raised a single eyebrow and waited.

"I mean, you do seem kinda strange with the whole, contracts instead of relationships, I thought maybe that was because…"

"I am not uncomfortable with being close to a human being, " said Eddie. "I do not have intimacy problems, I have dated plenty in the past. I do the contracts because they work to protect me. Just, leave it at that. Unless there's some part of the contract that's left you displeased?"

Waylon shakes his head, quickly, causing blond curls to fly into disarray.

"Then, I have some questions to finish reviewing," said Eddie, pulling his chair back up to the desk. "Aren't you on set today?"

"I am," said Waylon, backing slowly out of the study, his face still flustered. "Don't forget, we have dinner tonight."

"It's on the master schedule; I will be there," said Eddie, nodding.

Waylon smiled and gave a tiny wave before disappearing out the doorway.

* * *

Eddie returned to the house after his weekly meeting with Andrew. He walked into the house and straight upstairs to his bedroom. That evening was the dinner that Waylon had scheduled.

Waylon hadn't provided any idea about where they would be going, or what the dress code would be. Eddie trusted that Waylon wouldn't take him anywhere too far outside of his comfort zone. Especially not after their awkward afternoon in the study.

Eddie settled on a white buttoned shirt over navy slacks. He was trying to decide whether he should wear a vest when the doorbell rang. Eddie heard the door open and voices chattering. He crested the stairs to see Waylon wearing the same outfit as that morning and holding a steaming box of pizza.

"Hey! Dinner's ready!" said Waylon, cracking the lid and inhaling the pizza fumes. "Mmmm never tried this place, but Helen said it was your favorite."

Vino's Pizza. Family owned. Italian style wood burning oven. Yes, it was definitely Eddie's favorite.

"Tonight was supposed to be the dinner together that you scheduled," said Eddie, frowning as he came to the bottom of the stairs and followed Waylon into the dining room.

"Yeah, and I ordered a pizza," said Waylon.

"You wouldn't prefer to go out somewhere more formal? Somewhere that others could see us, at least?" asked Eddie.

"Of course not," said Waylon, dropping the greasy box onto the table. "I scheduled us to have a dinner, just the two of us, away from all that bullshit. Just, dinner between friends. Roommates. Co-Workers. Whatever."

"Alright," said Eddie, frowning down at his choice of attire. "Maybe I should change."

"Oh, you definitely should change, get comfy," said Waylon, grinning. "Since we're staying in, clothing is optional." The accompanying wink was ridiculous.

Eddie shook his head and sighed before hurrying up to his room to change into gray sweats and a plain black shirt.

Waylon had procured paper plates from somewhere and set out huge slices of pepperoni pizza onto each plate, cheese oozing around greasy pepperoni pieces. "So," asked Waylon, lifting up his piece with two hands, "how was your meeting?"

"My meeting with Andrew?" asked Eddie, frowning as Waylon took much too big of a bite and sat chewing while his mouth was still connected to the slice by a thin string of mozzarella.

"Ahuhn," said Waylon, through his mouthful.

"It went well," said Eddie, clearing his throat. He picked up his own piece and paused. "Andrew said there are some agents asking about you, and he only had one contact number to give them, for Frank Manera."

"Ah, yeah, Frank's my, uh, well, I guess he's my agent," said Waylon, frowning as he chewed another large bite. "He looked over my contracts and stuff, not the one with you, but work contracts, and he gets a percentage of my movie earnings. But, other than that..."

"Some news agencies are going to want to interview you, especially the closer we get to the movie's release especially," said Eddie, chewing with his mouth closed.

"Yeah, I guess. Agents just cost money, which is something I totally don't have a lot of right now. Waylon snorted to himself before taking another much too large bite.

"For the meanwhile, would you like to have Andrew as your acting agent? You don't need to sign with him, he will just present you with opportunities that arise, since they're already calling him anyway," said Eddie, pausing to wipe his mouth with a paper napkin. "It won't cost you anything, I'll add it to my bill."

"Oh, please, you don't have to do that..."

"The contract we signed stated that I will be responsible for covering your work related and living expenses," said Eddie, shrugging. "I'm happy to help."

Waylon smiled at Eddie, staring at him while holding his forgotten slice. The cheese and pepperonis slowly slid until they fell to the plate, free of the doughy slice beneath. "Dammit," said Waylon, picking up the mess of toppings with his finger and shoving it in his mouth.

"You're a mess," said Eddie, unable to stop a smile. Waylon's face was smeared with marinara.

"I know, I totally own it, though," said Waylon, grinning with his cheeks full.

It was easy to talk to Waylon. About work. About the weather. About the different actors and directors they work with every day. Waylon asks about Eddie's workout routine-and seems genuinely interested. Which is more to say than most people. There are no issues when the conversation is kept light.

"So, like, do you ever date anyone, without a contract?" asked Waylon as they were cleaning up the pizza.

"No," said Eddie, closing the box and carrying it into the kitchen. "I used to date, but I learned that it's better for me to have this contract in place. I can keep a companion, I can travel the city without much gossip-news interest, I have a partner during all interviews and traveling situations, and in the end, the other party is better than before. I get that satisfaction of helping someone with my money and influence. My way of giving back."

"Yeah, right, you're not targeting the hottest chicks in Hollywood as some kinda charity scheme," said Waylon, snorting as he balanced pizza crusts, plates, used napkins, and other garbage.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" asked Eddie, setting the pizza on the counter as Waylon dumped his garbage into the trashcan, one napkin fluttering to the ground.

"Just seems like a really obscure way to help people, and why all the kissing in public and sharing beds in private, if this is just some charity," said Waylon, bending at the waist to pick up the fallen napkin.

The board shorts Waylon's wearing are more covering than most of his costumes for the movie, but Eddie still stares. He can imagine those shorts out of the way, easy enough. Waylon stood upright and caught Eddie staring.

"So, you ready then?" asked Waylon, a devious smile creeping into place.

"Ready? Our dinner date is not over?" asked Eddie.

"No way," said Waylon. "I got something else planned for us, tonight. You're free for the entire evening, right?"

Eddie frowned as he nodded.

"Good," said Waylon, grabbing Eddie's hand and leading him upstairs. Eddie followed, obediently, though he was unable to shake his nerves. Especially when Waylon led him into the last room in the hallway.

"Tada!" said Waylon, gesturing at the screen where a movie was paused. There was store bought popcorn in separate containers waiting in two of the movie theater style chairs, front and center.

"You want to watch a movie?" asked Eddie.

"Fuck yeah, I wanna watch a movie," said Waylon, clapping his hands. "C'mon, man, I'm living with you, I want to watch every movie you ever starred in, with you, offering your commentary..."

"This sounds horribly dull," said Eddie, sighing.

"No way, because I started with the best one," said Waylon. He reached around Eddie to hit the main lights, then pointed the remote control at the screen and hit play.

The screen opened with the Murkoff Studios logo, followed by footage of a Jeep driving through a mountainous forest.

" _Outlast_? Really?" asked Eddie, chuckling. "Do you scare easily?"

"How can I be scared, when The Groom's sitting right next to me?" asked Waylon.

But it turned out, Waylon could get scared. And he frequently did, at every twist and turn in the thriller. He squealed when the ruined soldier chased the protagonist, gasped when the mutilated doctor clipped the protagonist's fingers, but when the chase finally led down to the Vocational Block...

"Darling," said Eddie, on the screen, in his full macabre makeup as The Groom.

Eddie turned to stare at Waylon in the dark theater. "Nothing?"

"What?" asked Waylon, tearing his eyes away from the screen.

"You jumped at every villain, but nothing for mine?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, well, I mean, The Groom, he's a scary guy, but, I don't know, I kinda want him to catch me and tie me down to that table so..."

"He cuts people in half with a buzzsaw, Waylon."

"What a way to fucking go," said Waylon with a dreamy sigh. He tossed popcorn into his mouth and smiled as The Groom's scenes, considered the goriest in the movie, played out on the screen.

"Just go back to him, he only wants to love you!" Waylon screamed at the screen, causing Eddie to legitimately laugh out loud beside him. And again when Waylon gave out a mourning wail at Eddie's on screen death.

"It was horribly uncomfortable, on those ropes," said Eddie.

"Not big into bondage?" asked Waylon, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"No, I'm not," said Eddie, rolling his eyes. On screen, sirens began to wail, and just as the protagonist turned around... Eddie grabbed Waylon's shoulder and growled near his ear.

"SHIT," howled Waylon, flinging the rest of his popcorn onto the theater floor while Eddie cackled. "You ass!" Waylon was interrupted by a loud noise from the screen as the nanoswarm flung the protagonist high into the air. Waylon practically jumped into Eddie's lap beside him.

"I thought this part didn't scare you?" asked Eddie, smirking where Waylon couldn't see.

"I'm scared if you're going to be messing with me! Jesus Christ..."

"I always hated the ending of this movie," said Eddie, sighing as the protagonist made his ill-fated limp toward the exit.

"Nah, as he dies, that one guy screams that he's the host now, so the protagonist, he's probably some kinda robo-God, fucking things up, flying around, having a good time..."

"No, he was riddled with bullets," said Eddie, shrugging with Waylon still halfway in his lap. "He's dead, Waylon."

"You fucking take that back," said Waylon, turning to glare at Eddie. "He's alive, he's the host, he's a god."

"If he is the host, he's a corpse," said Eddie. "No one can survive that."

"The swarm could survive it!"

"But the protagonist is a human body, he's not the same as the swarm!"

"You know what, let's just agree to disagree," said Waylon, muttering as he grabbed the remote and hit another button.

"What are you doing now? It's late," said Eddie.

"I know," said Waylon, the credits paused on a black screen, keeping the room dark. "Thanks for having a normal dinner with me. Hanging out with me. I was worried you might be pissed, about earlier. On the computer."

"I'm not upset about that," said Eddie, the dark room suddenly feeling much too intimate. Close. "I know what's out there, I assume most people have heard it all."

"How did you finally get out of that situation?"

Eddie considers the question, staring at the paused screen. His usual 'no comment' already bubbling to the surface. But Waylon isn't a reporter, or a psychologist, or someone asking for information. Waylon was someone who maybe cared about Eddie's answer for more than a byline.

"My mother walked in," said Eddie, keeping his eyes unfocused in the dark theater. "She saw. I had learned that what was happening wasn't right, and I thought it was a shameful secret I had to bear. And then my mother witnessed it and quietly turned away. I realized, then, that it was horrible, but it wasn't a secret. My parents were complicit, and I needed to get out."

"You're so strong," said Waylon, sighing. "I always admired you, growing up. Because you got away. I wanted to get out of my house. Away from my father, mostly. I was stuck in a bad situation. Just when I thought I'd found a way out, I was tossed out of the house. So I suppose in that way, the plan worked." Waylon snorted at his own joke.

"Why did your family throw you out?" asked Eddie.

"Ah, the porn thing," said Waylon, palms up as he shrugs. "The gay thing wasn't their favorite, but the porn thing, that was the straw. 'Not under my roof,' etcetera whatever parental cliques he needed to justify it to himself."

"But, you wound up in Hollywood, acting in a real movie," said Eddie.

"Yeah, exactly," said Waylon. The low lights shone in his eyes as he grinned. Something was off.

"Do you speak with your family?" asked Eddie.

"My sister, yeah," said Waylon. "My mom she's not really able to talk, but my sister keeps me updated on her. I haven't been back since my dad threw me out, though."

"I know what it's like to have family in this world, that isn't a part of your life, for good reason."

"Yeah," said Waylon, grinning up at Eddie. "I always thought we would have a lot in common. Overcoming parenting disasters-though, obviously, in your case..."

"Tragedy isn't a competition," said Eddie. "You're allowed to feel upset about your own experiences, without comparing them to someone else's."

Waylon chuckled, one hand finding Eddie's on the armrest and giving a squeeze. "You always say the right thing. Makes me feel like someone's listening."

"I actually had a nice evening," said Eddie. Waylon's answering smile seemed to light up the dark room. "I wouldn't mind scheduling a few more. If you're agreeable."

"Absolutely," said Waylon, smiling.

* * *

Waylon walked out of his trailer wearing a stringy, see-through shirt and tight shorts, barely long enough to cover his ass. Cheap flip-flops completed the look, _placking_ as he walked across the parking lot where the trailers parked. He approached Dennis and a group of camera operators.

"Alright, Waylon, you're here, good, look, there's not really any dialogue, just you two goofing around, it'll probably be a montage at the end, so just wing it, any ideas you have of some fun things, I know my art director has some shots she wants to set up, and I want that dialogue done at sunset so we got some hours to spend, looks like a beautiful day, so…"

"What the hell are you wearing?" asked Waylon, distracted by the view of Eddie approaching.

"My wardrobe," said Eddie, frowning.

"I've never seen you in shorts," said Waylon, still laughing. "You're orange!"

"Makeup felt I wasn't tan enough, below the knee," said Eddie, frowning even deeper.

"Oh my god, are you gonna drip orange if you get wet?" asked Waylon, grinning as he grabbed Eddie's hand. "C'mon, let's go see."

The cameras followed, some held by individuals, others wheeled by teams. Waylon ignored them as he pulled Eddie toward the water.

It was a perfect summer day, the only clouds present were wispy and high in the stratosphere. The beach Dennis had chosen as the location was busy, but not crowded. A few vendors wheeled carts near the sidewalk, and locals grouped together with surf boards and portable speakers. The tourists were easier to spot because of their blinding white skin, sometimes already pink, and vibrant beach bags overflowing with gear.

The tide was out, giving them plenty of light sand to traverse before Waylon tugged a reluctant Eddie into the ankle-deep water.

"Well?" asked Eddie, holding his hands out and staring down at his own calves.

"Seems pretty sturdy," said Waylon, bringing a hand up to stroke his chin in an exaggerated thinking pose. "But what about…"

Waylon kicked the next long reaching wave, sending wet sand and water all over Eddie's shorts and legs.

"Watch it," growled Eddie, holding his hands up as though his face were being assaulted by a seagull.

"It's just water," said Waylon, through his laughter.

"Oh, just water," said Eddie, hiking his leg back in a very obvious movement. It gave Waylon plenty of time to sprint in the opposite direction, sloshing through the white tips of the furthest reaching waves. The short chase culminated when they were both forced to stop and let two young girls in matching bathing suits pass.

"Watch out, darling, you're going to upset the locals," said Eddie, leaning in closer to Waylon.

"Hey, you two, less running, let's get some walking, instead, yeah?" Dennis wore an open Hawaiian print shirt, showing his pale skin and chest hair. "Alright, uh, camera rolling, walk and talk, let's go…"

Waylon held onto Eddie's arm for stability as he pulled off one wet flip-flop, then the other. He began walking, one finger through the thongs on the sandals as he carried them in one hand. He swung them as he walked, slinging salt water with every step. "What do we talk about?"

"Whatever you want to talk about," said Eddie, moving his hands as he spoke, and making his face especially expressive.

"Oh, that's a good trick, it looks like you're saying something interesting, but yeah, you're totally not," said Waylon, attempting to return the same strange behavior.

"I'm good at saying nothing," said Eddie, dragging a hand through his hair, made messy by the persistent breeze.

"Ask me something, there's no reason we can't talk about something real," said Waylon. "They're gonna play this over some obnoxious Indie song anyway."

The cameras followed; Dennis barked commands out of earshot. Waylon turned to stare back at the cameras, and Dennis gesticulated wildly. Waylon quickly turned back around, and resumed talking to Eddie, and acting 'natural.'

"Well, tell me about yourself, then," said Eddie.

"Not much to tell," said Waylon, shrugging.

"How did you get into porn?" asked Eddie, causing Waylon to stare.

"Seriously?" asked Waylon. Eddie shrugged, pausing as a wave came threateningly close, only to retreat at the last second. "You never wanna talk about porn."

"I want to talk about you, not porn," said Eddie, smiling.

"Well, lemme see," said Waylon, pursing his lips and swinging his sandals in his hand. "My mom got sick. I had to stay home to help her, but the medical bills were torture. I borrowed my friend's webcam, and started doing shows at night, that way I could earn money while staying home with mom."

"You would…earn money on the web cam?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, sure," said Waylon, laughing. "Lots of money. I had a cam set up on a couple websites, all I had to do was log on, and people would pay to see me."

"Pay to see you doing what, exactly?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, that depends on the customer," said Waylon, holding up his free hand and ticking off on his fingers. "Undressing, jerking off, fingering myself, fucking myself with toys, some people would request really gross or weird stuff, depending on whether they would pay up…some of the shows were private, some one-on-one, sometimes I'm just naked in a public room and people would throw cash at me as tips. There was still some acting involved to draw in the customers. It was good money. I was proud."

"Sounds like a legit business," said Eddie, brow creased. "Without a partner, it seems rather tame."

"Yeah," said Waylon, biting on his bottom lip. Without a partner, it _was_ rather tame. But he had had plenty of partners.

Loud noises from behind caused both men to turn around and return to the beginning mark. The cameras resumed, and Dennis called action before they began walking in the same direction again. The footprints from before already washed away by the incoming tide.

"So you did pornography because you could do it from home, without anyone else," said Eddie, recapping.

"Well, yeah, until my dad caught on that I wasn't making money just by having a web page," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. He pointed up as a seagull flew down and came up with a bird in its mouth.

"That's when your parents threw you out?" asked Eddie.

"Oh yeah," said Waylon, laughing. "Threw me out fast. But, one of the guys that I befriended when I had the webcam, invited me out to California. So I relocated, continued my shows there with my friend's help, until I got an offer to make some videos for a porn site, and that started out small, then got bigger, and well, eventually I was a regular with Frank's studio, and he got me the audition for this movie! Voila!"

"Okay, we've got this camera set up, I want a shot of you two running in the water," said Dennis.

Eddie nodded and stood by the beginning mark the crew had drawn in the sand.

"Alright, action!" called Dennis.

Eddie sprinted as though running a race, blowing past Waylon's casual jog through the surf.

"What the hell!" called Waylon. He used so much energy laughing that he failed to come close to catching up.

On the second attempt, Eddie jogged painfully slow, trying to keep pace with Waylon. On the third, Waylon shot away as quickly as possible, until his foot hit a soft spot under the water. He felt his ankle twist unnaturally, then threw his hands out to catch himself as he fell into the water with a _splat_.

Strong arms under his legs and arms hauled him up out of the ocean, sputtering from a faceful of salt and sand. Waylon wiped at his eyes as he felt jolted with each quick step back toward the edge of the beach.

"Whoa, wait, I'm fine," said Waylon, squinting through the grit to see that it was Eddie holding him. He pushed through offers of assistance by crew and bystanders alike. He carefully sat Waylon down on a weathered bench beside a vendor with a bicycle cargo/cooler setup.

Dennis jogged up while Eddie talked with the vendor. "Way, man, you okay? Does your ankle hurt? Medical is on their way, just hold tight."

"I'm fine, seriously," said Waylon, spitting out a mouthful of grit.

"Here," said Dennis, dousing Waylon's face with freezing cold water.

"SON OF A BITCH."

"Here, darling," said Eddie, holding out a plastic bag filled with melted ice.

"What is it with you and ice packs," asked Waylon, muttering as he accepted the ice with freezing water dripping down his face. He held the bundle against his ankle. "It's no big deal, it barely hurts."

But there was no convincing the crew. Eddie sat, chatting friendly with the crew and the vendor, while the medic on set came up and touched Waylon's ankle, turning his foot every which way. Finally, he decreed that the ankle was merely twisted, not sprained-or worse.

"I'm okay to finish shooting?" asked Waylon.

"We gotta get those lines in, even if you're sitting there in a wheelchair, but we got time before sunset, so you take a break," said Dennis, returning to speak with the crew.

Waylon carefully pulled himself up until he was perched on the back of the bench. He could barely tell he'd done anything to his ankle. He rested his elbows on his knees and plopped his chin on his hands before a thick, red white and blue Popsicle was shoved into his line of sight, blocking the ocean beyond.

"For me?" asked Waylon, quirking an eyebrow at Eddie holding out the treat.

"The vendor offered it for free, it would be rude to refuse," said Eddie.

"He offered it to you, though, you should eat it," said Waylon, grinning as the Popsicle dripped in the afternoon sun.

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't eat anything this childish," said Eddie, frowning.

"Oh, because it's childish? Not because it's phallic?" asked Waylon, snickering as he took the Popsicle.

"Are you always this immature?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, I can make it very mature right now," said Waylon, tongue flicking out to slide along the Popsicle from stick to tip. He grinned at the outraged look on Eddie's face. "Too mature?"

"There are children out at this beach…"

Waylon sunk the entire treat into his mouth as deep as possible, lips wrapping around the frozen treat as he hummed his reply. "Mmmhmm."

"Don't film this," said Eddie, causing Waylon to pull the Popsicle out of his mouth with a _pop_ and stare at one of their camera operators.

"Do film it!" said Waylon, pistoning the Popsicle in and out of his mouth several times in quick succession, playing with the angle so the tip was visible through his cheek. He slurped loudly on the treat as he pulled it out, letting sticky red syrup string with his spit.

"THE CHILDREN," said Eddie, holding his hands up between Waylon and the camera, causing the crew that had gathered to stifle laughter into their hands.

"Then you show me what I'm doing wrong," said Waylon, holding the now thoroughly licked Popsicle closer to Eddie's mouth.

"Absolutely not," said Eddie, head whipping around as though looking for the mythical children waiting to catch them being inappropriate.

"Then, no reason to let it go to waste," said Waylon, smirking before shoving the entire shortened Popsicle into his mouth then sucking hard as he pulled it back out, ever so slowly. "Fuuuuuuck," said Waylon, his free hand flinging up to his forehead. "Brain freeze."

"Serves you right," said Eddie, taking the Popsicle out of Waylon's hand while he held his head.

"Hey, I wasn't done!"

"You are done," said Eddie, throwing the melting treat into the nearest garbage can.

"Sharing desserts was your idea, wasn't it?" asked Waylon, grinning with his red stained lips.

"Alright, sunset's close, come down to the shore so we can get positioned," said Dennis, a flock of crew members close behind.

The lines were simple and few. The crew argued over the best angles, lighting, and camera positions before finally Eddie and Waylon were positioned in shallow water, up to their ankles, and Dennis decided the sun was perfect.

"Action."

"I had a good time wit'ya today," said Eddie, as Felix.

"Yeah," said Waylon, as Randall. He grinned and looked into the sunset, as practiced. "I had fun, too."

"I wanna see ya again," said Eddie.

Waylon snapped his head around to stare up at Eddie. "What?"

"I mean, doesn't gotta be here, but ya know, go out wit'ya…"

"Really?" asked Waylon, tilting his head. "I mean, we fucked, and you wanna be my agent, but you don't have to force yourself to spend more time with me than necessary…" Waylon started to turn back toward the sunset, away from Eddie.

"No one forces me to do anything," said Eddie, pulling Waylon's chin back toward him. "I wanna spend time, I wanna get ta know ya. That okay?"

Waylon's smile lit up his eyes, first, before migrating to his lips and his entire face until his entire face shone brighter than the sunset. "Yeah. That's okay."

"Not going anywhere," said Eddie, pulling Waylon in for their scripted kiss, heads turning slowly and lips pressing softly.

It was the kind of scene Waylon didn't mind shooting over, and over, and over again. Dennis kept them repeating variations of the lines and poses and kissing in the sunset until the sky was completely purple and the brightest stars appeared around a tiny sliver moon.

"Alright, that's a wrap," said Dennis, and the crew began to pick up and chatter.

Eddie wandered away from the water, directly toward a small crowd of people. Waylon hadn't noticed them, too wrapped up in kissing Eddie. Staring at him longingly in the twilight.

Fans, Waylon realized. They had noticed the cameras and flocked around, recognizing Eddie Gluskin. Autograph books, printed photographs, all manner of strange objects were thrust upon Eddie. He smiled, calmly, accepted a marker from someone, and patiently scribbled his famous signature onto the offered items. It took several minutes before Eddie finally thanked everyone and walked away, to a flicker of camera phones.

He caught Waylon watching him, and smiled. Embarrassed, maybe. Almost shy.

"You're so good with them," said Waylon, falling in line behind Eddie. They walked back toward the temporary trailers parked in the parking lot. Dennis and the crew were still packing up, and the sunlight was quickly replaced by the electric buzz of the artificial lighting around the boardwalk. The pier lit up in the distance like a beacon.

"You get used to it," said Eddie, shrugging. "They might have wanted your autograph, as well."

"Mine?" squeaked Waylon, tripping on an uneven chunk of asphalt. "Shit, no way. What would I sign? My naked spread in _FAPDAY_ magazine?"

"More likely you'd just sign a paper, darling."

Waylon grabbed Eddie's hand before he had time to sort out his thoughts. When Eddie turned around, Waylon lifted on his toes and kissed him, arms sliding around Eddie's neck to hold him close. Eddie allowed the behavior, his mouth open and pliant even if not responsive.

When Waylon pulled away, Eddie's eyebrows raised slightly.

"I thought I saw a um, reporter," whispered Waylon, words lost in the breeze and the distant rub of the ocean against the sand.

"Ah, in that case," said Eddie, both arms wrapping around Waylon as he pulled their bodies tight and resumed the kiss. If not for those strong arms, Waylon just might have drifted away.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter gets porny :)


	13. Chapter 13: Watch Me

**Chapter 13: Watch Me**

The door was already opening when Waylon heard the knock. He opened his mouth to tell off some lost assistant when instead…

"How do you keep getting in here? It's a closed set, we have security…"

"Yeah, you have security, and I have a badge," said Miles, holding up his fake credentials dangling from a lanyard around his neck. "I told 'em I was here to bleach your asshole."

"You did not," said Waylon, standing up and crossing his arms in front of his chest. His wardrobe for the last scene was a tight black shirt over ripped jeans, and he was in the process of removing his makeup and jewelry when Miles interrupted.

"Everyone's seen your asshole, I'm sure they assume you bleach it," said Miles, closing the door behind himself and walking further into the room.

"Just get out of here, I'm done shooting for the day, I can meet you in fifteen minutes in the parking lot," said Waylon, reaching behind himself to unclasp his black leather choker.

"If I do that, those assistants are going to know I didn't really bleach your asshole," said Miles, setting his jaw in a look of defiance. "After that, they'll assume you don't bleach at all, that you use photoshop, and I can't allow that for your reputation, I won't let them slander my best friend's name in the tabloids, that asshole is one hundred percent real and…"

"I knew there was a reason I wasn't missing you," said Waylon, turning up his nose as he reached for a clean cloth of makeup remover.

"No, you don't miss me, because your new beau is probably fucking you raw, am I right?"

"No comment," said Waylon, wiping under his eye with the cloth, staring into the mirror and ignoring Miles.

"Oh stop it, I'm not the press, it's me! Your boy," said Miles, moving until his reflection is unavoidable in the mirror behind Waylon. Miles wore his best puppy eyes, fluttering lashes at Waylon in the reflection.

"Yeah, right, you're probably wearing a wire," said Waylon, narrowing his eyes where they met Miles' in the mirror.

"I'm not wearing a wire," said Miles, making an indignant noise. "Wanna frisk me? I'm not wearing underwear, either."

"What are you doing here, Miles?"

"I came to offer to take you out to dinner, fudgesicle," said Miles, walking to the side of Waylon's dressing table so he can look into Waylon's face directly. "You made me a nice spot of cash. Figure I owe you."

"I made you cash?" asked Waylon, pausing his face cleaning to raise an eyebrow at Miles. "You sell some previously unaired footage of us or something?"

"Nothing to tawdry," said Miles, grinning. "Snagged a killer pic of you two making out off set. Got some great mileage out of it. Got a new set of tires for my Jeep, and now, I'm buying you some beers."

"It's ten thirty in the morning. And what picture?" asked Waylon, dropping his black smeared cloth to glare at Miles.

"TMZ's front-page this morning, cronut," said Miles, fidgeting with his phone before turning the screen to Waylon. The browser opened to TMZ's homepage and a picture of Waylon and Eddie kissing under a security light in the parking lot beside the beach.

"You were at the beach shoot?" asked Waylon, snapping his jaw closed after he realized it had fallen. "That's creepy as hell."

"Why?" asked Miles, scoffing. "You know photographers are taking pictures of you guys everywhere you go."

"Yeah, but I know you, you coulda said 'hi' or something," said Waylon, hip jutting out as he crossed his arms. "When it's you doing it, without me knowing it, I feel…I don't know, violated."

"Well, I wouldn't have to violate you if you'd just give me a friendly text about where you guys are gonna be, what time you're arriving, how long you plan to stay, who else will be there, etcetera," said Miles, smiling his best customer service smile.

"So what, you're just gonna stalk me instead?" asked Waylon.

"You're easy to stalk, puddin, I pay for your cell phone, and I put that convenient friend stalking app on there for your convenience—you're welcome, by the way."

Waylon pulled out the chair at his table and sank down, knees suddenly wobbly. "Look, I don't care if you wanna photograph us from afar, but I'm really trying hard to get close to Eddie. I like him, Miles…" Waylon reaches out and tugs at Miles' sleeve. "Like, seriously like him."

"Yeah, you always had a crush on the guy, this isn't news…"

"No, like, he's a really nice guy," said Waylon, grinning as he stared down at the clutter on his dressing room table. "He takes care of me, and he's kind, and he's funny, and I'm really enjoying the whole getting to know him phase. But he's really stand-off-ish, ya know? I don't want him to think I'm like, trying to use him for fame or selling out his pictures or some shit. That's not what this is about."

"Yeah, no, okay, that's not what this is about…" Miles slapped an open palm on the desk in front of Waylon. "Wake up, idiot. You guys being in the tabloids means press for your movie, means star-power for you, and someone is gonna take that picture. Might as well be me. So, you can either start texting me a few leads, or I will crank up my paparazzo powers to twelve and start old school stalking your ass. Now, which sounds more fun to you?"

"You would stalk me?" asked Waylon.

"Because I love you," said Miles, bringing a hand up to his heart. "Yes, it's better me stalking you with a telephoto lens than some disgusting lowlife!"

"How are you not that?"

"Because I'll make sure the shots are nice, I'll sell them to reputable sites, and I'll give you a cut," said Miles, smooching his lips together in a loud smacking sound. "Everyone's happy!"

"I'll think about it," said Waylon, gnawing on his bottom lip.

"I could really use the favor," said Miles, sighing. His smile slipped, replaced by an unsure quirk of his lips. Never a good sign with Miles. "I'm having some trouble with leads. I'm starting to get worried that maybe someone's out to sabotage my career or something."

"Don't look at me," said Waylon, holding up his hands.

"No, no, it's someone competent, someone with connections, someone intelligent, and devious, definitely not you, muffin," said Miles, gnawing his lip. "Maybe I reported on something sensitive, got some enemies."

"Like the time you were positive the police were pulling you over more than other people because you published that blog saying that contrails were causing autism?"

"Hey, that was a real conspiracy, maybe not that particular article, but those cops…"

"You ignore speed limit signs because you don't believe in them," said Waylon, eyebrows flat.

"Well, enough about that, how are things with The Groom then?" asked Miles, his usual lopsided grin reappearing with the subject shift.

"Fine," said Waylon, pushing back up to his feet. He walked over to a hanging rack of wardrobe clothing and pulled his black shirt over his head. "I told you, I like him a lot."

"You guys fuckin' like bunnies or what?"

"No comment."

"Oh, fuck that noise, you gotta tell me!" Miles grabbed the sides of the desk with both hands and thrust his hips into the furniture so hard several items fell to the ground. "Please tell me he's a kinky fucker who's making all your wildest porno dreams come true?"

"It's not like that."

"It's always like that," said Miles, smirking before slamming his hips into the table again.

"Eddie is different, please, stop assaulting my table!"

"Eddie's a man, you're a slut, now give me deets," said Miles, thrusting his hips back into the desk to punctuate the sentence.

"No! Will you please just, get out of here, you're messing up my dressing room," said Waylon, bending down to pick up several bottles of product and memos scattered to the wind from Miles' enthusiastic display.

"Frank's been calling me," said Miles, shrugging. "Said you're ignoring his calls. He has some open spots lined up, and…"

"I'm ignoring his calls because I'm not doing porn anymore, now, would you please…"

"Fine, I gotta go hit this red carpet charity thing later," said Miles, gently stroking the top of the desk before walking away. "Hope it was good for you, baby."

"Are you talking to the desk?"

"You consider texting me, yeah? Next time you and The Groom decide to get some public time, holla at your boy," said Miles, playing with his lanyard as he backed away toward the door.

"I'll think about it."

"Thanks, cookie," said Miles, winking at Waylon in the mirror.

—

Heat caused the hills in the distance to blur and shimmer like a mirage. It was too damn hot. Waylon looked around the empty yard with its high fence and privacy hedges before quickly shimmying out of his red Speedo and jumping into the infinity pool.

The crisp, cool water provided relief from the sweltering California sun, but also a quiet sanctuary where Waylon could think. He floated on his back, eyes closed until the sun was just a warm, red glow behind his eyelids.

Miles had a point. He was many things—the words crude, immature, stubborn, and obnoxious came to mind, first—but Miles wasn't stupid. And even if he always had his own well-being first and foremost in his mind, Waylon's well-being wasn't too far behind.

The entire purpose of the dates Waylon and Eddie planned was to be seen. They needed to be photographed, to generate buzz, to make the Entertainment News reel, and the Buzzfeed lists of most popular actor couples. It was just a fact that someone had to hold the camera, take the picture, barter it to the right news outlets, and collect a check.

Why not Miles?

Sure, he would gloat, and spend at least half of the money on parties and booze, but he was a decent guy. Not a great guy. But decent. Okay, yes, he was the kinda guy who jerked it to teenage camboys, but he was also the kinda guy that drove across country and picked up said camboy after he was thrown out of his house, then gave him a place to live for years.

Waylon owed Miles so much. But he owed Eddie his loyalty, as well. Especially since Eddie already seemed so skittish. The contract, the non-disclosure agreement, the security, the scheduled dinners, and how difficult it was to break through his actors' facade to glimpse the true man beneath.

Paparazzi hold a terrible reputation in Hollywood, but Waylon couldn't help but feel a kind of connection to these people—to Miles. They were a necessary evil. Celebrities want photographers to take their picture and see themselves in the magazines until they decide it wasn't their best angle. Then they're pissed. Just like everyone looks down on cam models and sex workers until their pants are around their ankles and they need a quick fix.

Still, just because Waylon saw a purpose to Miles' job didn't mean he needed to go broadcasting to Eddie that his friend was a filthy paparazzi. No, the less said about the ordeal, the better. And it's not like he would tip Miles off about private dates, only the public ones, where they intended to be photographed.

Waylon floated in the pool, content with his decision. The soft bubbling of the pool water circulating was the only sound until the noise of a throat clearing broke the silence. Waylon dropped his feet and quickly sprang to the side of the pool.

"Eddie! Hey, you're done early with shooting?" asked Waylon. He gripped the side and pushed himself up and out of the water, walking toward the towel he had left draped over a pool chair.

"Y-yuh, ah, hmm…"

Waylon paused with the towel in hand, narrowing his eyes at Eddie until it dawned on him to look down where pool water sluiced down his body. His completely bare body.

"Sorry, you weren't home," said Waylon, laughing while holding the towel but not covering up. "Come on, it's not like it's nothing you haven't seen before! It's all over the Internet."

Eddie's face slowly changed from embarrassed blushing to suffocating red, and finally to some sort of 'I wish I was dead' gray.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm covering up," said Waylon, laughing as he tied his towel around his waist. "Better? Now that I covered up that big bad penis."

Eddie spluttered in response, which only renewed Waylon's laughter.

"Did you need me for something?" Waylon asked through the last of his chuckles.

"D-dinner…"

"Dinner?" asked Waylon, scratching at his wet hair. "I thought you had dinner with the boys tonight?"

Eddie nodded, keeping his lips pressed tight together. "Just wanted to let you know that Jeremy scheduled us another dinner for later this week, it's on the master schedule, I'm uh, I'm sorry to interrupt." He turned without making eye contact and hurried out of the pool area.

—

Waylon. Stark naked in broad daylight, water dripping down his toned body, the swell and dip of his chest, hips, legs. Droplets catching the light in his curls.

"BOOM!" screamed Aiden, pounding both fists on the table causing a cacophony of silverware and plates rattling. Eddie jumped, his elbow sending his entire bundle of cutlery to the floor.

"You okay, old man?" asked Chris Walker, seated to Eddie's right at the round table. The restaurant was their usual haunt, a family-owned Italian affair that always sat the group in the back room reserved for private parties. The service was exquisite, their evenings never disturbed, and they always tipped generously.

"Sorry, I just, feel I've heard that story before," said Eddie, smiling when their waitress, and also the wife of the head chef and owner, appeared to replace his silverware. "Apologies, Roberta."

"No problem, Eddie," she said, with a wide smile on her plump face. She blushed when Eddie smiled in return, and quickly pushed her gray-streaked hair behind her ears. "Would you care for more drinks or coffee?"

"Thank you, but none for me, darling," said Eddie, holding her eyes and smiling until she nodded.

"Would you stop flirting with the married women," said Aiden, draining the last dregs of his beer. Straight from work on his latest set, he wore a plaid shirt and a tired look on his heavily scarred face. "I'll take another, Robbie, you're a doll."

"Me too," chimed Chris, holding up his empty glass.

"Coffee sounds great," said Billy across the table, his voice soft and eyes glued to the tablecloth.

"I'll be right back," said Roberta, leaving with a quick step, leaving them alone in the empty private room.

"You were right," said Chris, sitting back in his chair with red pleather over its cushion and brass tacks. "That story is familiar. Didn't you already blow up a train last year?"

"Fuck off, Walker, you're thinking of Downhill Terror, and no, we blew up a trolley, it was set in San Francisco you uncultured fuck."

"So this time it was a real train?" asked Eddie.

"Hell yeah, and those idiots wanted to blow it up in parts, then piece it together in one go and I convinced them to let it all go in one shot," said Aiden, holding his hands up, his one good eye bright with excitement while the other remained its usual cloudy white set amidst his burn-scarred face. "New guy on the team, he's a good kid, but he accidentally doubled the accelerant in the caboose, so it's going down the line, except then we get to the caboose…" Aiden paused his story to snicker. "Caboose."

"Grow up," said Eddie, rolling his eyes.

"Well, the caboose blew up four times as big as any other, everyone on set flipped their shit, and damn if it wasn't the prettiest site I have seen in forever…until you came back with my beer, just now, Robbie, thanks!"

The men all chuckled and waited as Robert replaced the drinks and left.

"Glad work is going so well," said Eddie, his tone flat. "How're things at the agency, Billy?"

"Oh, uh, fine," said Billy, stirring his coffee while adding too many sugar packets. He was the youngest of the group and wore a blue collared shirt with Hope Advocates embroidered on the shoulder. "We signed a new kid, think he's got some great new talent, and uh, Jessica, her case, well, that's going to court, so…"

"When is the date set? I'll be there," said Eddie.

"There's an extension being filed, but as soon as I know what's going on, I'll make sure to tell you," said Billy, smiling.

"She's a brave girl," said Eddie, turning to Chris. "And you…second audition? How did it go?"

"Better than expected," said Chris, a smug grin on his large face. "The show is going for cable and my part was supposed to be a small role, only a few episodes, but after we met and they saw my MMA footage, decided to work up a role just for me on the show."

"It's perfect," said Aiden, slapping the table. "Who better to star in a show about MMA fighters than a real fighter. Same logic behind Eddie's porn star flick."

"It's not a porn star flick," hissed Eddie.

"How's Waylon doin?" asked Chris. "That movie is an emotional nightmare, shit. I didn't feel good for the rest of the week after filming our scene together."

"He's incredibly resilient," said Eddie, nodding. "He continuously surprises me with his range and ability to express himself on camera. We're coming up on the last weeks of filming, and I couldn't be more proud of him as an actor. He is going to make a great name for himself with his movie."

"Wow," said Billy, leaning his elbows on the table. "That's some high praise there, boss. Sounds like someone's got a crush."

"How's your fake dating going?" asked Aiden, punctuating the sentence with a long swig of his beer.

"Fine," said Eddie.

"I saw a picture of you guys making out by the beach," said Chris, smirking.

"It was on a shoot."

"There weren't any cameras around that I could see, save the photog shooting you from the bushes," said Chris, snickering to himself.

"You've seen this same thing happen with countless actresses, why are you surprised?" asked Eddie.

"I don't know, because Waylon's a hot guy, because you always seemed to have a thing for hot guys, and yet you only fake-date ladies…"

"Don't give the boss a hard time," said Billy, shooting a cold glare in Chris' direction. "He can have an arrangement with whoever he wants. I think it's nice that he's helping Benny out. He's a handsome guy, he's got a lot of talent, he's young and..

"His name is Waylon," said Eddie, clearing his throat.

"Oh, I know, I uh…"

"Holy shit," said Aiden, leaning closer to Billy at the table. "Benny?! Billy-boy are you a fan?!"

"Um…"

"Oh shit, Eddie's dating Billy's porn crush," said Chris, bursting out in a loud, gravelly laugh. He held up his glass in a salute, beer sloshing but not spilling. "I bet the old man can get you a meet n' greet! Whatdya say, Eddie, help Billy-boy meet his crush?"

They were teasing Billy. That was normal. They knew that Eddie's arrangements were business—and not pleasure. There was zero reason for the sudden wave of jealousy that Eddie choked down with a sip of the water.

"Stop embarrassing Billy," said Eddie, leveling a cool stare at Aidan and Chris as they cackled. Billy's face bloomed a bright pink and he hunched his shoulders up and shrank down, like a turtle hiding in his shell.

"Thanks, boss," said Billy, shaking his head. "I didn't mean no disrespect, it's just, I always like to research your partners. To make sure they're good people. And well, his stuff is all over the Internet. I mean, you guys are laughing, but you've watched his stuff too?"

The way Aiden and Chris immediately went to their beers and stopped laughing had Billy perking up in his seat. "You have, haven't you," said Billy.

"I mean, yeah, when I was preparing for my role with him, I wanted to know what kinda actor he was, and there's just no shortage of pictures of him naked on the internet," said Chris, shrugging his massive shoulders.

"I might have watched a few," said Aiden, turning his beer glass around in front of him instead of looking at his friends. "I mean, I didn't watch from like, start to money shot, but I saw enough of him naked. He's a porn star. It's alright, Billy, we were just busting your chops, everyone's seen Eddie's fake-boyfriend's porn."

"I haven't," said Eddie, leveling a challenging glare at each of his friends.

"Why not?" asked Chris, baffled rather than accusatory.

"Because it didn't seem proper," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "He brought me some videos to show me, but he stopped them before any clothes came off."

"You're missing out," said Billy, a shy smile appearing on his face when he met Eddie's surprised eyes.

"I'd recommend this one, Benny Benches Bradly," said Aiden.

The remainder of their drinks passed in a blur. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about Waylon. Just out of the pool. Water sluicing down his body, his entire body glistening with it. His nudity on full display for anyone who wanted to see.

Why hadn't Eddie looked before?

—

It felt like an invasion of privacy.

Correction, it was an enormous invasion of privacy. There was no disguising it when Eddie typed the information into the search bar on his computer. His office seemed too bright, the usual lamps and lighting putting a spotlight on his criminal activity.

Except it wasn't a crime. Everyone had seen Waylon's porn. Waylon assumed Eddie had seen his porn. Eddie needed to rectify this problem.

So many videos. Eddie was unprepared for the sheer volume of them. He had never gotten around to asking Waylon exactly how many explicit videos he had starred in. Maybe Waylon didn't even know. Some were surely duplicate uploads because the search engine declared there were over two hundred thousand results.

What if Waylon had had sex with two hundred thousand people?

Preposterous. At least unlikely.

Eddie ventured past the first few pages, the obvious choices. Most of the results included a thumbnail video of two naked people. Eddie recognized one of the titles from the other day with Waylon, and quickly clicked on what promised to be "SFW Pornstarz."

The interview had caught Eddie's attention the day before, and he assumed an interview wasn't as bad as watching Waylon getting fucked out. Waylon was clothed in a gray AC/DC T-shirt and jeans, a smile on his face as he listed off answers to inane questions.

He was charming. Real. No wonder he could bewitch so many horny viewers. He seemed like the kind of person you could fuck raw, then have a beer, and enjoy the rest of the evening. He prattled away about his favorite sets, co-stars, and sexual positions. Eddie tugged at his collar, feeling his heat rising just from the innocuous questions.

"Okay, one final question, if you could get a chance to fuck any person, famous, alive, dead, anyone, who would you choose?"

"Oh, that's simple," said Waylon, giggling on the video. "Eddie Gluskin."

"Mmmhmm," said one of the hosts, leaning across the table to high-five Waylon.

"Really? I mean, wait, are we talking Longing and Battlefield Gluskin all twenty years old in a uniform, or Executioner Gluskin," the host paused to laugh, "or The Groom…"

"Any. All. I've had a crush on Eddie Gluskin since I was a kid and saw him on television, that's how I knew I was gay, I was way more interested in Alfie than any of the girls I knew or saw…"

"Well, there you have it," said the other host, staring into the camera. "Watch out, Jennifer, Benny Jetts is gunning for your man." The threesome erupted into giggles and Eddie stopped the video.

Jennifer…three years ago. Waylon would have been around twenty. This information was available if he had bothered to look. Why hadn't he bothered to look? Waylon wasn't trying to hide anything. He probably assumed Eddie knew-that Eddie had researched him, and seen at least a profile or a video.

The video gave Eddie the confidence to resume his search. It wouldn't hurt to watch one of the 'nsfw' videos. It was Waylon's job. Eddie wasn't embarrassed that Waylon had seen his movies, and seen his love scenes—nude scenes.

One particular title rang familiar. Benny Benches Bradly. Eddie clicked on the video.

Waylon. He was younger, definitely, but it was him. Dark eyes peeking through lowered lashes. He wore workout clothes and the set was a sparse gym area. The other actor was a handsome man, taller and broader than Waylon with wavy black hair. The two smiled and blushed through the stilted porn dialogue as he trite plot played out for the camera.

Soon, 'Bradly' had 'Benny' on his back on the weight bench, but instead of doing chest presses, Waylon is only being rubbed along his entire body, his erection wildly obvious in his tight shorts.

"How about you bench me, instead?" asked 'Bradly' on screen. And then the real video began. The actors removed one another's clothes, slowly allowing every inch of skin to come into view. Then they were naked and kissing…

Eddie skipped forward in the video. It was uncomfortable, watching another man kissing and touching Waylon. Their actions seemed sensual. Genuine. Even when Waylon was moaning much too loudly for a non-porn setting.

No one should moan that loudly. But Waylon made it look good. His lips that usually smiled so sweetly at Eddie formed a filthy 'O,' instead.

'Bradly' was well-endowed. Very well-endowed. Frightening, really. When he lifted Waylon up and positioned his engorged cock at Waylon's slick entrance, Eddie quickly clicked out of the video.

Eddie's chest fluttered. His cock twitched in his slacks. It was arousing—but it was uncomfortable.

So many of the video results were with partners, obviously. Eddie found he wasn't interested in seeing those. It made something ache in his chest to imagine someone else fucking Waylon. He wanted to imagine himself fucking Waylon.

At least he could admit that much to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts.

After a couple minutes of aimless browsing through the results, something piqued Eddie's interest.

Benny Jetts Early Camshow.

Eddie understood all of those words, but he was rather unfamiliar with the porn industry. A camshow was different than other pornography? He performed a more specific search, just looking for Waylon's cam work. The thumbnails of the videos looked grainier than the more professional work. Low definition. Eddie clicked, anyways.

Several of the videos contained a partner, but it was always the same person. A young man about Waylon's age and size. Shaggy brown hair, tan skin, crooked grin, and a fat cock. One of the videos proudly declared itself to be a 'solo show.' Eddie clicked quicker than ever.

The video began on a close-up of Waylon's face, eyes staring straight ahead before darting to stare directly into the camera. He looked younger than Eddie had seen him before.

"Hey Perverts," said Waylon, snickering. His blond hair was longer, curls tucked behind his ears sticking out in adorable angles.

Waylon wore a black tank top and loose gray gym shorts. He rambled on while staring into the camera, pushing his rolling computer chair back enough to show most of his body.

He had to be eighteen or nineteen. His face was shining and bright, his dimples blinking when he smiled. Dark eyes twinkled in the dim lightning of the room behind him. It wasn't much of a room, the white walls a collage of posters, and a bare mattress visible.

"I know this was supposed to be a regular show, but my dildo was suddenly called away for work, so I guess I'll have to do with just myself," said Waylon into the camera. His eyes shifted away for a moment, and he laughed, genuine and adorable.

"Yeah, my dildo thinks he's more important than he is at his job, but, he does this for me as a favor." Waylon shrugged and continued looking at the screen, eyes darting back and forth. "Yeah, sorry, I don't know when my dildo will be back, so I don't wanna make any promises…"

Waylon paused to laugh again, a hand coming up to play with his curls. "Thanks for saying that, hugejack, it's really sweet that you would uh, call out of work to be my dildo, thank you…"

A chiming noise sounded and Waylon's eyes lit up as he stared into the camera. "Ooh, thank you, thank you! Thanks, guys, I'm gonna get started, what do you wanna see? I got my toys, and…" Another chime. "Thank you for the tips, means so much, I'm gonna stay public so, tip if you like what you see, and…"

Eddie clicked forward in the video. It was strange. More like a video diary than a porn video. Although, when he clicked around the halfway point, the scene became much different.

The camera relocated until the center of the frame was a bare mattress, a couple cutoff posters on the wall. It was all a background blur. Waylon had Eddie's undivided attention.

His clothes gone, Waylon sat completely naked on the mattress. His body was less tone than Eddie had seen in the more professional videos. Soft. A swell around his middle and scrawny limbs.

Waylon stared directly into the camera as he wrapped his hand around his cock. He wasn't hard, but he wasn't completely flaccid, either. He worked himself to a full erection with slow, firm pumps, eyes fluttering half closed as he held the stare. Waylon's cock grew to full mast, standing out ruddy and huge from his wiry frame.

There was a bottle on the mattress because of course there was, and Waylon reached for it, coating his hand. He returned his grip with a slutty groan. "No one knows how to touch me quite like me," said Waylon, his voice breathier than before. Quieter due to his distance from the microphone on the computer. Soft and alluring.

Eddie wanted to touch. Wanted to hear Waylon make those sort of noises. The same as the ones Waylon made on set during their intimate scenes, only different. Real. But since Eddie couldn't touch Waylon, he unzipped his slacks and leaned back slightly in his chair.

The screen jerked when Waylon repositioned the camera, giving a clearer view of his spread legs. Two slick fingers worked in and out of his hole while Waylon stared toward the camera, most likely watching himself on the screen. His eyes lidded, chest movements growing more shallow and quick. Breathtaking.

Eddie had seen Waylon naked. He had seen him sucking cock and simulating sex on set, but he had never seen this. It was somehow different than even a regular porno. This wasn't some skeevy director zooming in on the soft area beneath Waylon's balls. It wasn't some shot that cut out Waylon's face and only showed his sexual organs.

This was Waylon intimately sharing himself with an audience. With Eddie. There was no tearing his eyes away from the display.

Eddie's hand was down the front of his pants, kneading his already leaking cock. A soft whine escaped before he could stop himself, though there was no need. It was drowned out by the much louder moans coming from the speakers of his computer.

"Eddie? You in here?"

Objective One: Mute the speakers. Immediately.

Eddie jumped upright, forgetting the state of his undone slacks. He clicked around to mute the video and turned his eyes to the doorway. Waylon stood in red shorts and a tight shirt with a black silhouette of a rooster on the front.

Objective Two: Play it cool.

"Waylon. Hello."

"You okay? I was calling, but you didn't answer, and I need to ask if I could borrow…"

Eddie's eyes continuously flicked back and forth between the screen and Waylon, like watching a tennis match. He attempted to maneuver his mouse to turn off the screen, but it was difficult and he kept missing due to his sweaty hand misusing the mouse.

"You watching something?" asked Waylon, frowning at Eddie's behavior.

"No."

"You have a good night out? You watching something fun?" asked Waylon, eyes narrowing as he dared a few steps into the room before freezing. "Oh, shit, I'm being nosy, right?"

"Very."

"Sorry, you just, uh," Waylon walked into the study. "Do you need help? I mean, you have trouble telling the difference between a computer and a potato usually."

"Nope. All fine."

"Well, that's a relief, and I'm glad I found you in here, because I was gonna ask if I could use your computer to check my email, I only used to borrow my roommate's comp, so I don't have my own, and my phone, well, I shouldn't use it anymore, I think, because…"

"You need a computer? A phone?" asked Edie, holding his hands up as Waylon approached. "I'll have them picked up and delivered, don't worry yourself a moment."

"Are you feeling alright?" asked Waylon, leaning into the room without taking further steps. "You look a little flushed?" Too late, Eddie attempted to cover up where his powder blue boxers peeked over his slacks. His hands covered the worst of his raging shame.

When Waylon spoke again, he was breathless. "Are you jerking off?"

Eddie opened his mouth to deny…

"Are you watching something naughty?!" asked Waylon, walking toward the desk and staring at the screen. Even with the sound muted, the video played on. In the video, Waylon's head had dropped back out of the view, but his hands, one working his cock and the other fingering his ass, dominated the screen.

Objective Three: Destroy the computer. Smash it. Burn it down.

Eddie lunged, but his undone pants tangled around his thighs and he jolted in his chair instead.

Too late.

"Oh," said Waylon, his face immediately turning red. He licked his lips, mouth moving as though searching for some kind of response.

The video was relentless and silent. Waylon moved the mouse, and Eddie chose to continue covering his genitals instead of reaching to regain control. On the screen, young Waylon pulled one knee up higher on the bed and continued to tease his hole with one hand while stripping his cock with the other.

"You're watching me," said Waylon, his voice a whisper. Eddie held his breath, preparing for the backlash. Waylon would run, or scream, or blackmail him. He would use Eddie's moment of weakness against him, in addition to thinking poorly of him. All that resisting only to end up caught with his hand down his pants.

"Why are you watching this?" asked Waylon, the same ghost of a voice.

Denial was out of the question. Because I wanted to see you naked. Because I have been fantasizing about you since you moved in. Because I am a bad person.

Eddie shook his head, keeping his lips sealed.

"I mean, why were you watching this, when I was just downstairs," Waylon knocked a box of tissues to the ground when he pushed aside some papers and the keyboard, "…why watch this when you have the real thing?"

Waylon lifted his hips onto the desk. He sat with his legs splayed wide, and his palms flat on the desk behind him. His hips squirmed, catching Eddie's eyes. Eddie stared hard at the visible hints of an erection beneath red shorts.

"I used to think, sometimes," said Waylon, shifting is weight to one hand and bringing the other around to grasp his crotch, "I know that everyone looks at porn, even famous people, and I used to think, what if Eddie Gluskin found my videos, what if watched me…"

Waylon's hand darted down the front of the elastic waistline of his shorts. His hips rocked on the desk as he stroked himself in his shorts. Eddie forgot about the video, watching the real life Waylon's show, instead. Much higher definition.

"Stupid, I know," said Waylon, chuckling. Eddie could see where Waylon fisted himself beneath the thin fabric. His eyes glanced up for a moment and met Waylon, staring at him intently, bottom lip hanging down. "I thought you were straight, but I still fantasized about you liking my videos. It really helped me get off when I was making all those videos. Imagining you watching."

Eddie whined, not even recognizing the sound as having originated from himself. Waylon shoved the waistband down, his cock springing free, thick and flushed. It slapped against his abdomen and the edge of his shirt, leaving a wet smear.

"I don't mind if you wanna jerk off to me jerking off," said Waylon, bringing his hand up to his mouth. He held Eddie's gaze as he slowly licked a stripe up his palm, then wrapped the hand around himself. His breath hitched as he slowly licked his lips.

"Touch yourself."

"I shouldn't…"

"You already were," said Waylon, biting off a moan following the statement. "Get your dick out of your pants, I want to see you…"

Eddie nodded his head, but his hands refused to move.

"You like watching me?" asked Waylon, shifting his hips on the desk, pausing his movements to pull his shorts down until his balls and hard cock were fully visible. Eddie stared at the bare, smooth skin. Completely shaved—in real life, same as on the video.

Eddie growled as he leaned back in his computer chair and shoved his hand back down his pants. Despite his inattention, his cock remained painfully hard. Needy. The slightest feel of his own hand had him biting back a moan.

"Do you have a favorite video?" asked Waylon, stroking himself, each upwards stroke ending with a twist of his wrist. Eddie watched, curious if it added something to the experience. Waylon's moaning and quick breathing suggested it was at least effective for him.

"First time," said Eddie, shocked at how broken and raw his voice sounded. He wet his lips before he continued. "That wasn't the first video, but today was the first time, I…"

"You can watch them—I want you to," said Waylon, squeezing his cock. A large drop formed at the tip from Waylon's milking. "I want you to watch me, and want me, because I fucking want you so bad."

Mutual masturbation wasn't something new to Eddie in his varied and numerous experiences, but the raunchy show Waylon was putting on felt completely new. Maybe because of his porn past, Waylon's movements, his body, the flush of his cheeks, and the sweet noises coming from his flushed lips…

Eddie grunted as he realized it was too late to stop his impending orgasm. He hunched down over himself, covering his cock with his fist to contain the flood of come dirtying his hand as he pulled it out.

Waylon was still moving. Panting. Squirming on the desk. His eyes were dark, focused on Eddie's crotch when Eddie pulled his hand away and frowned at it. The box of tissues had fallen to the ground along with the other papers when Waylon had sat down. He was about to ruin his slacks when Waylon leaned forward and grabbed his hand.

A shocked complaint died on Eddie's lips as he found himself pulled slightly forward, and watched as Waylon sucked two of Eddie's dirty fingers into his mouth before closing his eyes and moaning. A tongue flicked along his skin, and Eddie's spend cock twitched in protest.

Eddie's hand dropped uselessly when Waylon released it, instead pulling his shirt into a tent over his own cock as he came with a slutty groan. Waylon's lip pulled up in a sexy snarl as a wet stain slowly saturated into the material of his T-shirt.

Waylon seemed unsteady on the desk, swaying with each heaving breath.

"I'm sor…"

"No," said Waylon, sliding off the desk onto unsteady feet. "Fuck your sorry." Waylon wiped his hand on his T-shirt leaving a slight smear as he pawed at his chest. "It's difficult, living here, pretending to date, and wanting you, and getting no relief, so if you feel the same, then…"

Then what? Eddie wanted to ask, but he didn't. He stared at Waylon's face. He looked desperate and wrecked, but there was something more. Something about the pained look in his eyes that gave Eddie pause.

"Something…casual?" Eddie let the question hang in the air while Waylon bit his lip, staring away. "You don't have to, there's nothing contractual…"

"Casual sounds nice," said Waylon, finally.

There was something about watching a porn star blush that Eddie found more satisfying than all of the videos he'd seen.


	14. Chapter 14: Act Casual

Casual.

The word prevented Waylon from sleeping, haunted his dreams, and woke him up with a feeling of dread. He stumbled into the limousine the next morning with deep bags under his eyes.

"Makeup is going to have their work cut out, today," said Eddie from the other side of the seat. He extended a paper coffee cup and frowned. "This isn't related to what occurred last night, per chance?"

"No," said Waylon, accepting the cup. "I mean, _yes_ , but no. I just, I was nervous and excited. Not like I have a problem with what happened, it's more like I'm curious." Waylon forced himself to take a breath to stem the babbling. "I don't know what 'casual' means to you."

Eddie mouthed a silent _ah_. Waylon clutched at his cup, the warmth distracting him as he waited.

"As you are aware, there is no sexual requirement in our contract," said Eddie, watching Waylon's fingers instead of his face. "It's something that can stop at any time. I am not paying you for sex, but if you are agreeable, I am open to a casual relationship, but it's not the same as the romantic performance we agreed upon in writing."

"So we're _pretend_ dating, for a contract, and we're _for-real_ dating in private?" asked Waylon.

"We are pretend dating, for a contract, and consensually enjoying one another in other ways, without any promise of commitment."

"But there could be a commitment in the future?" asked Waylon.

"I would rather not enter into anything sexual if you are hoping for something long term. That would be where the 'casual' comes into play."

"What's long term, though?" asked Waylon, fitting his coffee cup in the cupholder with a shaky hand. "I mean, we're almost done shooting the movie, are you gonna throw me out after that? Does the sex stop, too?"

"Waylon, I'm not interested in a romantic relationship, hence the need for the contracts in the first place," said Eddie. "I was open about that during our meeting, and you acknowledged that you understood."

"Yeah, no, I understand, I mean—I do, I just…casual, I don't know what that means to you…"

"You know what casual sex is," said Eddie, tone unimpressed.

"So casual sex, between…coworkers?"

"Precisely," said Eddie, a smile appearing before vanishing. "Unless you've changed your mind? We do not have to do anything—you aren't required at all. The casual relationship stops whenever one party wants it to end—much the same as the formal contracted performance."

"I wanna do it," said Waylon, jaw jutting. "I mean, I can do casual." Waylon leaned over in the limousine. He pushed his face into Eddie's neck, and one hand gripped Eddie's thigh through his blue slacks.

"Waylon," said Eddie, coffee sloshing as he jerked away. "What are you doing?"

Waylon's hand froze, but continued squeezing Eddie's thigh. "Uh, I was initiating some completely casual road head?"

"No," Eddie took a deep breath, holding his coffee with two hands. "Thank you, but, we hve to be performing at work in less than an hour. You need to show a little more restraint, darling."

"Darling," said Waylon, goofy grin appearing. "That's better than sex, really, just call me that, and…"

Eddie gave an irritated sigh, causing Waylon's story to cut off with a laugh.

"I still like you," said Waylon, grinning. "I like that you're grumpy, and a prude, and the way you overthink everything. I really can't resist riling you up. It's too much fun."

Eddie shook his head as though brushing away Waylon's comment. He focused on his coffee. "We have a long day of shooting ahead, before another formal dinner. Best to stay focused."

Waylon took the hint and leaned back into his own seat, retrieving his cup. He drank his coffee as he stared out the window at the smoggy Los Angeles morning.

Casual. Waylon could do casual.

* * *

 _Leaving set now_ , texted Waylon.

 _Thanks_ , followed by the cupcake emoji.

"Ready to go?" asked Eddie, waiting in the hallway near Waylon's dressing room.

"Shit, yeah, sorry to keep you waiting," said Waylon, fumbling to put his work identification back into his beat-up wallet.

"It's quite alright," said Eddie, smiling as he gestured for Waylon to walk first. "Your costumes required more makeup and pieces than mine, so it's understandable."

"Except when we're shooting the sex scenes, then I have considerably less clothing than you."

Eddie grumbled, but his hand found the small of Waylon's back with magnetic accuracy and remained in place as they walked down the hallway and out the studio door. The familiar black limousine was parked in the usual spot, idling.

A small gathering of tourists and photographers grouped together on the far side of a chain-link fence. Waylon acknowledged the crowd with an enthusiastic wave, though there was little change in the group's demeanor. Eddie paused to give a curt, barely-there nod and the crowd pissed themselves with excitement.

"Damn, must be nice to be popular," said Waylon, grinning at Eddie's bored expression. "Where we eating?"

"No idea," said Eddie, opening the door and holding it for Waylon. "I didn't make the reservations."

"That's a nice size crowd, sure you two don't feel like a quick smooch for the lucky fans?" Sprawled across the bench that ran lengthwise up the cab of the limousine was Jeremy Blaire in a black suit, white shirt, no tie.

Waylon's blood froze, but he forced a polite smile.

"Jer?" asked Eddie, pausing with the door open. "David was just about to drive us to our dinner reservation you had arranged?"

"Mazzio's, you're gonna love it," said Jeremy, beckoning with two fingers. "Get inside, I have my own appointment there tonight, and I have news for you two."

Eddie looked at Waylon and shrugged. He held the door open wider until Waylon accepting the invitation and slid into the limousine. Eddie sat down next to him on the bench across the back and shut the door.

"You two have an interview booked with Susan Page over at _Hollywood Minute_ for tomorrow night," said Jeremy, a smug grin on his slimy face. "She owes me a sizable favor, so it's a fluff piece, but it's gotta be tomorrow, they had a segment to make up, turns out one of their celebrity spotlights of the week was caught with his pants down at a peace rally making him a headliner instead of a special interest story, so now they need you two."

"An interview with _Hollywood Minute_ ," whispered Waylon, going green around the gills.

"Nothing to worry about," said Eddie, reaching out to squeeze Waylon's hand where it rested on the bench. "Though I usually demand some notice. This is hardly the usual protocol for scheduling interviews…"

"Alright," said Jeremy, ignoring Eddie's glare and reaching into his breast pocket. He pulled out two stacks of index cards held together by tiny golden paper-clips.

"Fancy," said Waylon, exhaling as he accepted his stack and slid the paper-cliff free.

Eddie's gaze was unamused as he watched Waylon's nose scrunch up as he concentrated on his cards. "Anything out of the ordinary?" asked Eddie.

"Normal, run-of-the-mill, boring shit," said Jeremy, sighing as he leaned forward to examine the bar area of the limo. "Dave keep this thing stocked?"

"I rarely drink in the car," said Eddie with a dismissive swish of his wrist. He unclipped his own stack of cards and began browsing. Regular questions about their relationship, how they met, why they decided to become official, and a healthy dose of questions about _Mainstream_ that made the film sound like the next masterpiece in production.

"Pansexual?" The way Eddie spoke the word was part question, and part reading from a dictionary of imaginary terms.

If Jeremy heard, he gave no hint. He opened the cabinets in the limo until he located a bottle of Scotch. Swirling the amber liquid in the container, he glared at the empty ice bucket.

"What about it?" asked Waylon, raising both eyebrows as he stared over his stack of cards at Eddie.

"The note here says that I am to answer that I am 'pansexual,' though I'm unfamiliar with the term…"

"Why do you have to have a label at all?" asked Waylon, frowning. "You can be whatever the fuck you wanna be."

"Look, the PR Department says it's a big deal, buzzword, yadda yadda, just use it, when they ask if this is you coming out, you can correct them that you're not gay, you're _pansexual_ , you like girls and guys…"

"I thought that was bisexual?" asked Eddie.

"Bisexuals are slutty college girls, you're pansexual, just stick with the cards."

"Okay, that's not correct at all, about bisexuals," said Waylon, shaking his head as he gestured at himself. "I'm gay, but I've had crushes on girls in the past, and I've had sex with girls. Sexuality is just complicated. You don't have to choose a label if you don't want one."

"When did you become his fucking PR agent, Park?" asked Jeremy, the bottle clinking as he poured a finger of Scotch into the glass. "This is what our people want you to say—so you say it. You're an actor, memorize your lines, act your part, done."

"I'm uncomfortable claiming a label I'm unfamiliar with," said Eddie, frowning at Jeremy, sloshing his drink around. "I don't want to come across as disingenuous."

"All it means is that you're sexually attracted to women, men, people that identify as both genders, or neither, or whatever, everything, you're attracted to people of all kinds, and sentient robots."

Waylon scratched his head with the corner of the index cards. "I feel like that part with the robots is made up, but I do have a friend with a real kink for robots-nanobots, he was so horny for the Walrider in Outlast, and he does happen to identify as pansexual..."

"We're here," said Jeremy, draining his Scotch and depositing the glass in an empty cup holder. "I recommend the sweet potato gnocchi in brown butter sauce."

"That doesn't sound very Italian at all," said Waylon under his breath as Jeremy pushed his way past them both to exit the limousine as soon as David opened the door.

"Buon Appetito," said Jeremy before vanishing.

The restaurant was fine white linens and warm bread baskets delivered upon seating. Soft music piped over invisible speakers and large plants provided a privacy shield between tables. Waylon sat down, not even flinching when the hostess spread his napkin into his lap.

He nodded when Eddie asked him about the wine selection. Not like Waylon knew anything about wine, one glass of fermented grapes was like another. The wine in his glass wasn't the issue. It was the answers on his cards.

"Are you alright, Waylon?"

Eddie's brow creased as blue eyes stared hard at Waylon's face.

"Yeah, ya I'm fine, sure."

"You seem a little distracted," said Eddie, frowning. He paused when the waiter brought the wine bottle, opened it table side, and poured a small sample into Eddie's glass. He carefully smelled and tasted the liquid before nodding his approval at the waiter. "Something you'd like to talk about, perhaps?"

"Probably best not to dwell on it," said Waylon, grabbing for his glass of water and almost knocking the wine bottle out of the waiter's hand in the process. He muttered his apologies before gulping down half the glass of water. Waylon's forehead prickled with sweat.

"This is because of Jeremy," said Eddie, his smile and eyes soft.

Waylon felt the room spin a quick three-sixty before he was able to even form a noise vaguely akin to 'wha?'

"What Jeremy talked about-the interview," said Eddie.

"Yeah yeah," said Waylon, pushing his curls behind his ears.

Yes, the problem was the impending interview, not his dubious past with Jeremy Blaire.

"Even though I want to be an actor," said Waylon, "I'm not really the best at lying about myself, or keeping stuff to myself."

"I noticed that," said Eddie, carefully arranging his silverware on the tablecloth. "You do not need to worry about this interview. The questions are quite standard."

"Really, like, when did we meet?" asked Waylon.

"On the set, of course," said Eddie, waving the question away.

"Yeah, on the set, you showed up at my porn shoot, I had just gotten done taking this huge load to the face and as soon as I'm wiping myself clean, they're yelling at me that Eddie Fucking Gluskin is on set, and thank god I had just come because otherwise, I would have been stumbling over my hardon, and goddamn did you look good, when you…"

"You just say, 'we met on the set,' and leave it at that," said Eddie, frowning.

"See?! This is going to be a disaster," said Waylon, slouching in his chair.

"Excuse me?" asked a posh British accent. "I was wondering if you had a moment to pose for a photograph? I'm Emily Wagner, with _The UK Connection_ …"

"Of course," said Eddie, leaning slightly closer to Waylon at the table and putting on a small smile. A very practiced look. Safe. Waylon had to tear his eyes away to glance at the camera long enough for the photograph to be taken.

"Much obliged," said Emily, practically bowing as she slunk away from the table.

"That was new," said Waylon.

"Why?" asked Eddie. "We come on these dates to be photographed, it's not always dirty paparazzi aiming for upskirt shots, there are legitimate celebrity photographers in this world…"

"Huh," said Waylon, eyes flitting around the room, suddenly worried. There were no suspicious looking faces or slightly Miles-Upshur-shaped bundles in the corners.

"Always keep your answers short and upbeat, do not give away personal information that isn't a funny anecdote with no real bearing on your persona well-being. If they ask something you don't want to answer, simply laugh and ignore it. They have to carry on or risk driving the interview off the rails."

"That's the exact opposite of how I'm usually giving interviews," said Waylon, laughing. "I mean, Top or Bottom, what's your favorite time of day to masturbate, and how old when you lost your virginity were pretty much standard for all of the interviews I used to do."

"Things are different, now," said Eddie, leaning in closer. "You don't have to expose yourself for money anymore—not on camera, not in the interview room. Safeguarding your privacy should be your number one concern."

The waiter arrived and droned through the daily specials. Waylon barely managed to mumble out, "I'll take the No Chi" which the waiter politely did not correct.

It's just an interview—what could possibly go wrong?

 _Mr. Park, tell me about your relationship with Eddie?_

 _Oh yeah, Eddie, he's really hot, and I hope one day we move from pretend dating to really dating because I want to marry him and have all of his babies…_

"Waylon? Are you alright?" asked Eddie.

"Fine," said Waylon, putting on an automatic smile that dropped the second Eddie stood up. "Where are you going?"

"The restroom, I asked you if it was alright if I excused myself, but you seemed lost in thought…"

"Yeah, no, go, it's…it's fine…"

 _How would you describe the feeling of working with someone you're dating_ , asked the imaginary News Reporter in Waylon's mind.

 _Eddie Gluskin is my mentor, my teacher, my friend, my coach, and fuck, he's a great lay, so working with him has been just, I mean, it's the best so…"_

"Pssssssst…"

Waylon whipped his head around, very conspicuously.

"BE DISCREET," whispered the plant next to him. Which was also quivering unnaturally.

"Miles?"

"What the fuck kinda restaurant is this?" asked Miles.

"I said the same thing, I mean, where's the lasagna, and what's a No Chi?"

"No, I'm talking about the fucking bouncer at the door that socked me in the face," said Miles, pushing the fronds of the plant aside to reveal a deep cut on his left cheek just below his eye, the skin around the wound already puffing up and turning bright pink.

"Jesus!"

"I know, it's a free country, I'm allowed to come into this place and sit at the bar, I'm allowed to take photos, I tried to show him your text…"

"Okay, okay, Jesus," said Waylon, leaning away from the decorative plant that was suddenly vibrating with anger. "Why are you hiding?"

"They threatened worse if they caught me inside," said Miles.

"Well, bad news, but that is a really shitty hiding place, I can see through the leaves plus, plants don't talk so you're making a scene, some people are staring…"

A tall, bald man with an earpiece walked into the main room and stared out across the room.

"Shit, I'm bailing, if you invited me here just to frustrate me, I swear to god..."

"I didn't do this to hurt you," hissed Waylon. "I gave you the tip because I'm on your side—you were right…"

The plant immediately stilled.

"Say it again," said Miles, a strangled noise, reminiscent of when he'd just hit his orgasm.

"You were right, shut up," snapped Waylon, looking around. Still no sign of Eddie. "Someone was gonna take the pics, might as well be you, I figured we always pose for pictures when we're out, but I thought you had enough skill to get in and out of here without getting into a brawl and hiding behind a fucking plant."

"Fuck you…"

"Try again tomorrow, okay? We got an interview."

"An interview, what kinda interview?"

" _Hollywood Minute_."

"No!" Miles gasped and used two fronds to bring them to his mouth as though they were his hands. " _Hollywood Minute_? My baby's all grown up, already getting his first of his fifteen _Hollywood Minutes_ of fame…" A shrill noise followed, and Waylon turned his head and acted casual as Miles stumbled out of the dining area.

Eddie rounded the corner, a puzzled scowl on his face as he turned to stare where Miles had just walked past. His expression remained quizzical as he made his way back to the table.

"Still no food?" asked Eddie, sitting down and readjusting his black cloth napkin.

"Not yet, I haven't seen the waiter," said Waylon. And he wasn't feeling particularly hungry, either.

"Ah well," said Eddie, flashing a bright smile. "More quality time alone together." His hand slid across the tablecloth and closed around Waylon's as a flash went off in the dining room.

* * *

"Action," said Dennis.

The set remained the same as it had been the entire week—the dingy apartment Felix rented after being thrown out by his wife. The prop department had entirely too much fun making the place look run down and battered. Cabinet doors hung off hinges, and plaster cracked off of the walls.

"You're pissed," said Eddie, as Felix.

Waylon kept his back to the camera as he opened a cabinet and pulled out the only prop box of cereal that actually contained cereal. He rest were empty. He paused, box in hand, and sighed before opening the top and pouring the flakes loudly into a cracked bowl.

"Yeah, you're pissed," said Eddie, scoffing. "I know 'cause you won't look at me."

Waylon whipped his head around to stare, blank-faced and calm, at Eddie, seated at the prop table.

It was probably the tenth time they had shot the scene, but it felt like the thousandth. Most of the annoyance on Waylon's face was real.

"Well, excuse me, for tryin' to stay positive," said Eddie, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. Felix's outfit that day was a stained white tank over jeans that fit poorly. The usual faux gold chain dangled in the middle of Eddie's chest.

Waylon shoved the box back into the cabinet with more force than necessary, then closed the cabinet with a _crack_. "You know what, fine," he said, as Randall. "I'm pissed. You're pissing me off, because I know how it went—you weren't there…"

"I talked to a guy who knows a guy who knows the guy who was runnin' the audition, they said you did a great job, they said…"

"I flubbed the line," said Waylon, a humorless laugh forced out. "Missed the mark. At one point, I thought the woman reading with me was flirting with me, and I almost had a flashback to the casting couch and then…"

"Hey, hey," said Eddie, standing up noisily from the table. He quickly rushed to stand beside Waylon at the counter. Waylon pointedly turned his head away.

"CUT," said Dennis. "I think we got it…"

"About fucking time," under Waylon's breath.

"…let's get the cameras close in," said Dennis, motioning to the crew.

"Staring at this cereal is making me fucking hungry," said Waylon, picking up one of the flakes and popping it into his mouth. He immediately grimaced and grabbed his throat with both hands. "Ugh, oh my god, it's so dry, it's like, two hundred years old, tastes like chemicals, it's like…"

"Don't eat the prop food," said Eddie, pushing the bowl away from Waylon's reach.

"Gross, need to get this taste out of my mouth," said Waylon, leaning in close to kiss Eddie's shoulder, left bare by the tank top. "Mmm, better…"

"Would you behave?" asked Eddie, though he fought a smile.

"Okay, ready when you are, camera two?" Dennis paused until he received a nod from the cameraman. "Alright, take it from 'this ain't the first,' and…action."

"This ain't your first audition, and it ain't gonna be your last," said Eddie, putting comforting hands on either of Waylon's arms and turning him until their faces hovered close. "You trust me, don'tcha?"

"I trust that you will try your best, yes," said Waylon, biting his lip. "But I don't trust myself. I don't think I'm as good as you seem to think I am…"

"You're better than good," said Eddie, leaning in to whisper hotly against Waylon's ear. "You're the best." A quick unscripted nip caused Waylon to gasp, hands flying up to fist into Eddie's tank.

"Cut, good, try again, version two…" a pause for murmuring, "action."

"This ain't your first audition, and it ain't gonna be your last," said Eddie, turning Waylon around roughly before gently soothing him by rubbing his arms and making soft humming noises. "You gotta trust me, Randy, you trust me, right?"

"I trust that you're trying your best, yes," said Waylon, sighing as he tilted his head up to meet Eddie's eyes. "I don't trust myself, is all. I'm not as good as you think I am…"

"Wrong," said Eddie, leaning in to whisper his next line against Waylon's jaw, "you're the best." Eddie opened his mouth and lightly scraped teeth along Waylon's jaw, causing him to laugh.

"Hey," snapped Waylon, fighting to stay in character as he pulled away just enough to spot Eddie's proud smirk. Waylon kissed the smirk away.

The scene was meant to end at a phone ringing, but the signal hadn't sounded. Waylon sighed and opened his mouth. A thrilling surprise raced through him when Eddie accepted the invitation, his tongue sliding through parted lips and making Waylon surge forward, hands around Eddie's neck.

Eddie, flushed, panting, and touching himself. The scenes from last night transported Waylon away from the moment and back to Eddie's study. It took several beats to realize a stage hand was admonishing them.

"Cue, phone rings…" The exhausted tech sighed before mimicking a phone, "ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling…"

Waylon jerked away and blindly slapped at the counter, forgetting where the prop phone lay. He first pushed it out of his reach and had to scramble to get it back before bringing it to his ear. "Hello?"

Eddie watched closely, faces still inches apart, and lips kiss-bitten and wet.

"Well?" asked Eddie, the line not scripted.

"That was the call," said Waylon, pausing to wet his lips and breath in, "we're pregnant."

Eddie's face lit up with scripted enthusiasm, before he realized what Waylon had said. "What?" he asked, with flat annoyance.

The cast and crew flew into a muffled din of barely contained snickers.

"Cut," said Dennis, sighing with his own amused snort. "Okay, Eddie, don't kiss him like that, you make him too flustered. Waylon, you have to answer the phone, this isn't magic world, press a button, focus man, and you know that's not the line…take it from the phone ringing…"

"You minx," said Eddie, causing Waylon to laugh until he took his hand and slid it down his face, turning his smile into a serious expression through strength of will.

On the second take, Waylon perfectly mimed answering the phone, Eddie's expressions were on target, and when Waylon let the phone fall and turned to Eddie to say, "I got the part…" The entire set seemed to take an in sync inhale of anticipation.

The squeal and kissing that followed took several glorious takes. They tried laughing kisses, with Eddie hitting his nose, cheeks, the back of his eyes, and each kiss was as light and sweet as the last. Another take saw Eddie heaving Waylon onto the counter, slotting himself between Waylon's legs, and kissing him deep. And then there were the three attempts to get Eddie off set without dropping Waylon or bumping into anything along the way.

"Beautiful," said Dennis, laughing at something a gofer had said once the filming ceased. "This is art, I promise. Alright, Eddie you're dismissed, Waylon, time to lose some layers, cameras reposition on Set 4A."

* * *

The end of filming was on the horizon. There weren't many scenes left where Eddie got to kiss Waylon. Eddie dreaded the end of filming. A first, for Eddie.

"Look at this handsome guy," said Vince, walking down the hallway in an identical tank top and ill-fitting jeans.

"Back 'atcha," said Eddie, smiling at Vince's returning grin. "Break a leg out there."

"More like a hip," said Vince.

But when he passed, Eddie got a strong whiff of aftershave. It stopped him dead in his tracks. Musky. Strong enough to burn Eddie's nostrils. An after-scent akin to Pine-sol. Lord, was the man wearing Pine-sol as a cologne?

Eddie sat in his dressing room after he'd changed back into his own slacks and shirt. He couldn't stop thinking about Vince and that horrid, cheap cologne.

The scene was short and dirty. Some humping and careful body placements. Nothing nearly as fun as the club scenes in Nevada. The scenes where Waylon had gotten intensely turned on by Eddie. The scenes that led to Eddie shoving Waylon into a trailer and Waylon dropping to his knees fast enough to bruise bone.

Waylon had shot scenes with Vince then. It hadn't bothered Eddie.

It made no logical sense for Eddie to walk back on set hours after he was supposed to leave.

"Umm, it's a closet set right now, Mr. Gluskin," said a nervous intern as Eddie approached the closed set door. A red light illuminated above the door, signaling that filming was in process.

"I'm aware of the schedule, and I know the type of scene being shot-I'm the lead actor," said Eddie, exhaling through his nose. "Unless someone says I cannot specifically attend, then I assume I am allowed."

The intern gave no rebuttal. Which was unfair because Eddie shouldn't be allowed on the set, but the young woman couldn't risk the ire of a celebrity of Eddie's status. Her job depended on his recommendations. He would owe her a favor, even. She had to allow him to pass.

Eddie opened the door and walked slowly onto the dark set.

The bed, the cameras, the lights. Everything was the same as previous days shooting in the bedroom set. But that evening, Waylon hovered above a man that resembled Eddie in his size, body type, hair color, and wardrobe—but not personality wise. Not his obnoxious chemical scent Eddie imagined he could smell from the door.

Vince was a nice man. He was very handsome. He had worked with Eddie for years on different films as his body-double for action sequences as well as love scenes. They often had drinks together after work, and Eddie had attended Vince's oldest daughter's piano recital every year around Christmas. They were friends—not rivals.

A stage manager carefully helped position Vince's legs and arms where he lied on the bed beneath Waylon, speaking in low tones. Waylon's giggle was the loudest noise on the intimate set.

Ice. Eddie felt frozen in place. The sight of Waylon touching another man on video was one thing. Bearing witness to the event made Eddie feel angry. Or, hurt? Jealous?

The actors ceased their conversations and prepared for the cue.

"Action."

The sheets on the bed shifted and moved, pulling and pushing along with Waylon's hips. He ground down on Vince, moaning, pulling the sheets away, bending down to mime a kiss.

That kiss. Those lips on another man. Watching Waylon's mouth...

Eddie had seen enough. Eddie stomped to the exit and pushed the door open with so much purpose one might suspect there was an emergency situation.

"Cut," yelled Dennis, turning around in his director's chair. "This is a closed set—we are recording, people. Who's the jackass that opened that door? I want names!"

"Eddie," said Waylon, crawling out of the prop bed. Beneath the sheets, Waylon wore a pair of underwear that matched his skin tone, and nothing else. He padded, barefoot, off set and into the hallway. "Eddie?" The question echoed in the empty hall. "Hey, Eddie."

Eddie cursed himself for coming. It was a closed set, why had he insisted on seeing that? What had he expected to happen? What had he wanted to prove?

But that was it. He needed proof. Proof that Waylon treated him differently than other actors—that Waylon's attraction wasn't a false front. Well, Eddie had been wrong. Eddie knew better than to assume anyone was being true when interacting with him.

"Filthy slut," grumbled Eddie, the wave of hatred helping to block the gnawing pains of jealousy and inadequacy.

Waylon continued to run down the hall until he reached out and grabbed Eddie's sleeve.

"Hey, what's going on, you show up at a closed set, and storm out in the middle of a take?"

"I made a mistake," said Eddie.

"Uh, what, you couldn't find the bathroom in the two hours since you were supposed to go home?"

Eddie turned his chin up, rather than answer.

"C'mon, you're Eddie Gluskin, you don't make mistakes," said Waylon, shaking his head. Waylon was completely at ease, speaking with Eddie in the middle of the hallway wearing only a flesh-colored modesty bottom. "Did you need something? Are they re-shooting something?"

"No," said Eddie, openly staring down Waylon's body, chest heaving from having run.

"You just came to see me, then?" asked Waylon, grinning. Eddie's response was a serious glare, before returning to his outright ogling. "Wait, oh my god, are you…are you jealous?"

Eddie tore his eyes away from the tantalizing sight, afraid to meet those dark eyes. "Absurd."

"Did you think I was gonna fuck that guy?" asked Waylon, failing to force eye contact with Eddie. "I'm not gonna fuck that guy. I don't just fuck any guy I meet because I'm a pornstar, okay? I wouldn't do that guy, I wouldn't do that to you."

"Oh, please, the scene is exactly how it was with me the first time, and then you were horny, you chased me down to beg for a fuck…"

"I absolutely wouldn't do that," said Waylon, fists balling at his sides. "You know me, do I seem promiscuous to you? The only person I've been with since our arrangement is you…"

"Were you hard, just now? On set?" asked Eddie.

"Fuck yeah, I was hard," said Waylon, grabbing Eddie's shirt when Eddie attempted to sneer and turn away. Waylon could never hope to overpower Eddie, but Eddie stayed anyways.

"I was hard, because he was standing in for your part," Waylon's fingers relaxed and his hand slid further up to hold around Eddie's neck. "I was excited because there was meaningless friction, and because he was a stand-in for you, he looked a hell of a lot like you, and goddamn Eddie, I am so hot for you…"

Eddie grabbed Waylon's waist and wedged a knee between Waylon's legs while backing him against the cold concrete of the hallway. A soft, rustling echo trailed down the hallway—likely someone looking for Waylon.

"This way," said Eddie, jerking Waylon's wrist toward a branching hallway that led to the dressing rooms. Eddie hurried inside of Waylon's dressing room because it was considerably closer than his own. It was an afterthought to lock the door.

The room was a mess of discarded wardrobe, memo papers, empty food containers, and hair products. Eddie pulled roughly until Waylon bumped into his chest.

"Sorry about the mess," said Waylon, breathless.

Eddie backed Waylon into a low standing table, sending clutter sprawling. He slid his hands down Waylon's sides, closing his eyes when Waylon's breath hitched and his muscles trembled. Eddie's fingers splayed at the top of Waylon's hips, digging into soft skin and toying at the edge of the briefs.

A moan, then Eddie's hands tightened on Waylon's hips and spun him around. Eddie rubbed his covered groin into Waylon's ass, the force knocking him into the low standing table.

"This poor violated table," Waylon gasped between soft moans.

A sharp thrust jostled the table. How cold Waylon think about furniture, while Eddie's hard cock was grinding against him? It dawned on Eddie that though he had seen Waylon, and they have performed certain acts, he had never touched Waylon properly.

A tug on the edge of the modesty briefs solicited no reproach, only a soft _coo_. Eddie pulled until the globes of Waylon's ass sprang out the top of the tan briefs put in place to protect a modesty Waylon never possessed.

"Eddie," Waylon's palms slide sweaty on the table, his chin dropped to his chest. He watched as Eddie's hands circled around to the front. Hesitated. Fingers clenching at the front of Waylon's thighs, holding him in place while Eddie's erection slid between his cheeks, still clothed in scratchy poly-blend fabric.

Waylon' hips jutted out and his head rose and fell. Eddie's hands on his thighs edged closer, retreated, returned…

"Would you fucking touch me already." Waylon's demand spat out, full of need.

Eddie frowned, hands stilling at the top of Waylon's thighs. There was energy there, boiling, waiting to be released, but Eddie stalled. He willed his hand to touch, to grasp. Nothing happened.

"Please?" Waylon's voice a whisper, "I want it…I want _you_. Can't you touch me?"

 _If I touch you, I'm initiating, I'm admitting that I want you, a man, a coworker, a contracted partner…_

Eddie's large fingers shifted and curled in, wrapping around the erection bobbing between Waylon's legs. Smooth heat throbbed in his hand. Soft skin gave easily when Eddie pulled. Waylon's cock that looked so tantalizing on camera was in his hand. Leaking, Eddie realized, as his hand began to slide easier.

With one finger, Eddie rubbed a tight circle around the tip of Waylon's cock. Taught flesh, wet with precome. A testimony to how badly Waylon had been waiting for this. Waylon's whimpers awoke something primal in Eddie, like the sound of wounded prey. Need throbbed in his groin more powerful than any hunger.

One hand dropped lower in front of Waylon, gently cupping his balls. Eddie rolled them in his hand, taking an almost medical fascination in the way they felt and shifted, the noises Waylon made when he tugged gently. The automatic thrust of Waylon's hips was a good sign.

The other hand, slightly tacky, slid around back to lightly slide along the cleft in Waylon's ass. Eddie's finger was sticky with precome when he lightly traced the outline of Waylon's puckered hole.

"Eddie, god, would you fuck me?" asked Waylon.

Eddie put more pressure into his movements, circling around creases and wrinkles, teasing the opening with the blunt tip of his finger but making no real effort to breach.

"Please, I want to feel you inside of me, I want you to fuck me hard, want to feel you when I go back on set, only thinking of you and how sore you fucking made me with that huge cock of yours…"

"Shhh, said Eddie, hands leaving Waylon to undo his own pants. "When I fuck you, I want it to be proper, at the house, where I can see and hear your every reaction."

Eddie leaned into Waylon, licking and kissing along the back of his neck, tongue sliding through the short hairs on the back of Waylon's neck. His pants slid halfway down his thighs before stopping, and he reached back to feel Waylon.

" _When_ ," moaned Waylon, "oh, you said _when_ not if—that means we're gonna fuck, oh my god…" A fresh flow of precome soaked Eddie's hand and he moved to wipe it between the tops of Waylon's thighs.

"Of course I'm going to fuck you, darling…" said Eddie, stuttering as he exhaled and pressed his aching cock between Waylon's sticky thighs. Waylon's matching moan was obscene.

"I don't like seeing you with another man," said Eddie, his voice quiet, deadly, whispered against the outer shell of Waylon's ear.

For once, Waylon had no mouthy response, only a breathy gasp.

"I saw your videos, with your partners, and I hated watching anyone else enjoy you," said Eddie, pausing to nip sharply at Waylon's lobe. "I wanted you to myself. I don't want anyone else touching you."

"I only want you to touch me," said Waylon. So Eddie did.

With stuttering hips and soft grunting noises, Eddie thrust his cock between Waylon's legs while jerking his fist in time with his movements. His body curled tight over Waylon's even as he thrust, each movement causing the table to jump. New items dislodged and fell to the floor.

Eddie heard them, but he couldn't see. His eyes squeezed shut as he focused on listening to Waylon's breath, feeling the heat radiating from his body, and tasting sweat on his lips. How long had it been since Eddie had wanted so badly? How had it come to Eddie humping desperately against a pornstar backstage at work?

Waylon comes. There's no warning. The loud, explicit version of Waylon from the videos having been replaced by a soft panting, genuine creature unable to keep from toppling over the edge and finishing in Eddie's hand. The new come became extra lube for Eddie's movements which had him following close behind, shuddering against Waylon's back as he finished into his thighs.

When Eddie finally opened his eyes, he blinked away spots and colors until he regained himself. He pushed away from Waylon, quickly adjusting his flagging cock back into his own pants.

Panting loudly, Waylon remained leaned over, elbows on the table, catching his breath. Completely unconcerned with the mess marring his body.

"You want me," said Waylon, still not moving, eyes trained down at the table and cheeks blazing.

"I thought that much was obvious," said Eddie, spotting a box of tissues on the ground. He picked them up and immediately gathered a handful to wipe gently away the mess. Waylon remained silent and still. "I lose control when I'm with you."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to have some kinda control," said Waylon, craning his neck to look at Eddie, dabbing another clean tissue. "I want you to show me how you really feel."

Eddie opened his mouth, _BANG BANG BANG_ , and closed it.

"Waylon Park, get your ass back on this set, you are wasting the time of good, hard-working people!"

"Five minutes," called Waylon.

"Five nothing, I'm the director of this movie, and I'm directing you to get out here right now."

Waylon scurried to quickly adjust himself, finding some wet wipes in a drawer to finish what Eddie had started. Eddie opened the door and squared off again Dennis' livid face.

"Eddie?! You aren't supposed to be here," Dennis' yell echoed down the hallway.

Waylon joined the two at the doorway, face sweaty and flushed, hair disheveled. "Hey Den, you got a cigarette?"

"You two are disgusting," said Dennis, shaking his head as he exhaled. "Get back on set, would ya?"

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, feel free to take it out of my pay, but we can't shoot the rest of this scene today," said Eddie, cool professionalism.

"The hell we can't Gluskin, you aren't in charge here…"

"Yes, but from now on, I'll be doing all of my own nude scenes for this film. Have someone send Vince a nice bonus, I will reimburse the full cost. From now on, Waylon only gets undressed with me."

Dennis very obviously paused and took deep breaths while counting to ten.

"We are shooting this, tomorrow," said Dennis, none of the anger leaving his face, "and I am bringing a fucking spray can like they use to train cats. You two better knock this out in one go because we're coming to the end of this ordeal and I will _not_ be put behind because you two are acting like a couple of horny…"

The door slammed in Dennis face, and Eddie paused, a sheepish grin on his face.

 _I hope that's acceptable for you_ , he wanted to say, but Waylon leaped into his arms and covered his face with kisses before he got the chance.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay, there are 5 more chapters after this one, then we are finished, thanks for your continued support 3


	15. Chapter 15: Motivation

**Motivation**

It took a month for Waylon to adjust to the crew on the set of _Mainstream_. There was no hope of adjusting o the crew backstage at _Hollywood Minute_.

"Waylon, baby, you're gonna do great, do me a favor, put a little more eyeliner on this guy? I want him to be so pretty no one doubts Eddie Gluskin fell for him, and talk to wardrobe, this shirt is too plain, we need something tighter…"

There were no new messages on Waylon's phone. Miles had been informed about the date, time, and location of the interview. Why wasn't he blowing up Waylon's phone with the usual obnoxious emoji?

Waylon sat, wringing his clammy hands together as two fake tan women and one boisterous man took to dressing him up like Gay Malibu Ken. His shirt was silky with a floral print, and his shorts tight and salmon.

Waylon escaped the changing room and immediately went to find Eddie. Instead, he ran into his worst nightmare.

"Park."

"Hello, Jeremy," said Waylon. He forced his voice to stay conversational. A coworker talking to a boss.

"You know, this thing is gonna wrap soon, and we won't be seeing as much of each other," said Jeremy, dark blue eyes narrowing as he stared at Waylon. "I need to schedule you to come by the office sometime next week before our time comes to an end. I have some ideas I want to run past you."

"You can schedule me to come by the office, but that's all it will be-business talk," said Waylon.

"Oh, it'll be business, you can bet your ass on that," said Jeremy. "I have some _business_ to give you. A couple of _jobs_ I know you can do well."

"I'm not going to suck you off anymore," said Waylon. The blunt language echoed in the near-empty corridor. Jeremy held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Whoa, whoa, where is this coming from? Why are you suddenly against oral sex? I thought that was kind of your specialty," said Jeremy.

"I'm with Eddie now," said Waylon, holding his chin higher. "I won't betray him like that."

"Oh, please, I'm part the Gluskin Inner Circle, I know about his little contracts," said Jeremy, smirking. "Damn smart man, if you ask me. If you can handle the sexless relationships with gorgeous starlets, that's where I'd fail. See, I'm a sexual creature, with an immense sexual appetite, and you seem to be a creature of the same habit, which is why we get along so well."

"I don't care what you think you know about Eddie's relationships," said Waylon, his voice going cold. "But me and Eddie are together, and I won't do anything with anyone else while that's in effect. So, I apologize, but I can't make that meeting. I'm going to be busy. With literally, anything else."

"Hmm, you know, funny you can't make that meeting," said Jeremy, chuckling darkly. "See, filming is over in a week if Dennis can keep his momentum up. After that, I had a few pieces I was gonna offer you. Someone who knows their place, who works hard to do a good _job_. But...if you're ready to play for the team anymore, I guess I'll be interviewing the next generation. Your replacement. Replacements? We'll see how ambitious I get."

Jeremy turned and walked down the hall. Waylon let him go.

 _I don't need your disgusting jobs. I hope they like choking on your smelly dick._

Any number of cruel responses came to mind, too late to be of any good.

Waylon followed the signs to the greenroom, and walked inside. He sighed in relief when he saw Eddie.

"Darling, whatever are you wearing?" asked Eddie, seated in a cloth director's chair near the caterer's table. He wore the same nondescript black suit, pale blue shirt he had left wearing that morning. A Styrofoam coffee cup steamed in his hand.

"What the fuck?" asked Waylon, staring down at his own tight shirt of white silk adorned with a floral pattern using every jewel tone imaginable. "Why'd they dress me like I'm about to lead a conga line on a cruise ship sailing to Pen Island, but you're just wearing your normal clothes?"

"Pen Island?" asked Eddie, fighting back a smile. "You have the option to refuse their wardrobe offerings in favor of your own. Looks like no one bothered to inform you of that little caveat?"

"Dammit," said Waylon, storming back down the hall to the tiny closet with "Waylon Park" scribbled over the temporary nameplate in black marker. He rifled through the options and settled on a plain gray V-neck shirt and the dark jeans he'd worn that morning. There was little he could do about the dark eyeliner, so he shrugged and rejoined Eddie.

Eddie's eyes raked up and down Waylon's new outfit.

"Better?" asked Waylon, holding out his arms.

"I rather like you in anything you chose to wear," said Eddie, starting to take a sip before pausing to add, "or choose not to wear."

"Okay, five minutes on the set, you ready?" asked an assistant wearing a bulky headset.

Waylon's cheeks burned. His nerves were shot from the wardrobe malfunction, and his palms sweaty from a night of poor sleep and worry. He was considerably _not_ ready when the assistant ushered him and Eddie onto the soundstage.

"Eddie!" Susan Page stood up from the fluffy blue couch on set and rushed to throw her arms around Eddie's neck. Her trademark platinum hair was up in a daring bun and she wore a bright pink pants suit with designer everything. "It's been too long, I nearly fell over dead when Jeremy said he could get me an interview. What a treat, you look great, haven't aged a day, more handsome than ever…"

"Suze, this is Waylon Park," said Eddie, politely disentangling the reporter and nodding where Waylon stood quietly sweating and seeing spots.

"S-s-Suzy…"

"Nice to meet you, Waylon," said Susan, her megawatt smile competing with the hot lights on set, "it's just a pleasure to have you both here…"

"Two minutes," cried a man in a see-through green visor holding a thick notebook.

"Here, take a seat, take a seat," said Susan, guiding them toward a large couch. Despite being overstuffed and covered in a soft, shaggy fabric, the couch was incredibly uncomfortable. Eddie frowned at the sofa, but managed to sit poised and statuesque while Waylon sank down into the cushions.

"How are you doing that," muttered Waylon as Eddie slid an arm around his waist and pulled him into a better sitting position.

"Doing what?"

"You're not nervous, you can sit on this…impossible fucking couch…"

"Don't let the nerves getcha," said Susan, bending low to whisper closer to Waylon, "these things are so heavily edited, anything that turns embarrassing we just," Susan mimed scissors with two manicured fingers, "snip!"

"One minute…"

A flurry of makeup people and assistants rushed to cover Susan with one final blast of hairspray, powder, and whatever else. Waylon leaned closer to Eddie on the couch.

"I don't wanna let you down," said Waylon.

"You've never let me down," said Eddie, smiling as he snuck his hand to rest on top of Waylon's.

"We're rolling in 5…4…3…" The last two seconds were countdown silently, ending with the man in the visor pointing at Susan.

"Hello Hollywood, and welcome to the _Minute_ , I have on my couch today the legendary Executioner himself, looking sexy as ever, Eddie Gluskin, and his co-star in his up-and-coming project, Waylon Park. Eddie, so good to have you back."

"Good to be here," said Eddie, smiling easily for the cameras.

"So, Eddie, tell me about this new project," said Susan, her smile so large her face seemed ready to split in two. Eerily, the smile seemed to stop just short of reaching her eyes.

"Absolutely, Suze, I'm working right now on a project that I am thrilled to be a part of, the title is _Mainstream_ , and it's a real, down-to-earth, gritty view of both the pornography industry and those trying to break into acting."

"Such an interesting concept," said Suze, her smile somehow stretching wider making Waylon feel uncomfortable. She leaned in closer, as though hanging on Eddie's every syllable. "And tell me about your character, Felix."

"Felix," said Eddie, laughing—a glorious, rich sound. "Felix is a bit of a scoundrel. He's an agent for the pornography industry, in charge of bringing in the new talent, and he's in a bad way. His wife left him, his work is soul-crushing, and things are looking pretty bleak just before he finds something new to...put the spark back in his life."

"A new spark! What a powerful thing to say! You're speaking, of course, about this guy…"

" _HI_ ," said Waylon, waving woodenly.

Susan giggled without missing a beat. "Yes, Waylon, you play the part of Randy Bourbon, the stripper that Felix finds…"

"I play Randall Jones, actually," said Waylon, his voice cracking like a teenager. "Randy Bourbon is only his stripper name, and, with Felix's help, he wants to leave that identity behind."

"Which is such a perfect part for you," said Susan, clasping her hands in her lap. "Don't you agree?"

"Absolutely," said Eddie, all smiles. "Waylon is a talented actor, definitely one to watch, he brings a lot of youth, energy, and sexuality to the role."

"Of course, but I was speaking, specifically, about Waylon's previous experience as a sex worker," said Susan.

"I wasn't a…" Waylon's mouth flapped for a second as he searched for a word. "I prefer the term adult film star."

"Yes, you were an adult film star, Benny Jetts, and you got your start selling cam shows to people over the internet?"

Waylon's face paled as he sat straighter. What had Eddie said? Don't answer.

Susan pushed ahead, relentlessly. "Now, I'm unfamiliar with the cam industry in particular, how does a cam show differ from a regular pornographic video?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" asked Waylon, scoffing as he crossed his arms in front of himself. "You ask Eddie about the project, and you ask me to talk about fucking myself on camera?"

"Whoa," said Susan, a fake laugh rolling from her lips.

"We didn't come here to discuss Waylon's past history," said Eddie. His expression was like disciplining a puppy—not actually upset, but firm and insistent.

"Of course, Eddie, you're also here to discuss the fact that because of this movie…" Susan deliberately darted her eyes back and forth between the two, smiling as she raised her shoulders. "So, are the rumors true?"

"Yes," said Eddie, his tone all business as he grabbed Waylon's hand and held it up for the camera. We are in a relationship."

"So, Eddie, is this you coming out as gay?" asked Susan. Her smile suggested that announcement from Eddie would be a wonderful thing and nothing to be embarrassed about.

Except Eddie's face had quickly turned a dark shade of plum. "Um, I'm not sure I would say…"

"But you are in a relationship with a man?" asked Susan.

"Obviously," said Eddie, shifting in his seat as though it had opened up to reveal its true nature as that of a grill over hot coals. "I um, I consider myself, pansexual?"

The word seemed like a question more than a statement.

"Pansexual! Can you explain to our viewers, exactly does that mean?" asked Susan.

Eddie choked on his words, swaying in his seat.

"It means exactly what it sounds like," said Waylon, leaning in closer to Susan to speak lower. "Eddie's sexually attracted to pans."

"Pans?" asked Susan.

"Pans?" asked Eddie.

"Well, most cookware, but it's just easier to say pansexual," said Waylon.

There was a long pause before Susan broke into trilling laughter. "Oh, Waylon, you're adorable! No wonder Eddie's smitten!"

Smitten. Was Eddie smitten? Waylon gave a sheepish grin and glanced at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Luckily, his earlier nerves seemed to have evaporated. The smile he gave Waylon was small and sincere.

"So, tell me, what's the best part about working with Eddie Gluskin?" asked Susan.

"Other than the sex?" asked Waylon, causing Susan to break out in laughter, again. "Well, Eddie's just a professional, ya know? He gives me pointers, has since day one, and he's always supporting me, never tearing me down. I never dreamed I'd be working on a set with someone as famous as Eddie for my first film, but he never made it weird. In fact, Eddie's supported me more in the last months than anyone else has in years. I owe him a lot for that. It was impossible not to fall for him, considering all that."

"And Eddie, what's it like working with Waylon?"

"Waylon is…" Eddie exhaled, long and slow, a smile spreading, "real. He's got such an upbeat attitude, he tries hard, he puts so much of himself into this performance—too much, sometimes. And he brings a kind of sad, real beauty to the role of Randall. Everyone's going to see the magic that he brings."

"Do you two have any love scenes?" asked Susan.

"TONS," said Waylon, clapping.

* * *

The end result of the short five-minute interview was positive. Susan Page thanked them both and moved away, already being handed beverages and new pages to memorize before the next segment.

Eddie was asked to hang back and talk with the show's executive producer-an old acquaintance. Waylon excused himself and opted to wander outside of the studio to see if he could spot Miles playing up his secret detective routine.

A loud throng of fans mingled near a chainlink fence. Several held glossy magazine pages depicting him and Eddie smooching on the beach along with Sharpie markers. No one seemed to clamor for Waylon's attention when Eddie was missing. Waylon started to walk back toward the door when he spotted a familiar brown leather jacket out of the corner of his eye.

Waylon wandered to the edge of the crowd, then ducked into an alley between two buildings. He could have sworn Miles had walked that way when he saw him last.

"Psst, Twinkie, over here."

Waylon whipped his head around until he spied Miles, dark shades and a popped collar obscuring his face. "Miles, I was looking for you."

" _Shh_ , don't say my name," said Miles.

"Well, that's the opposite of what you usually say to me," said Waylon, grinning.

"Cute," said Miles, shaking his head. "I brought you some mail." Miles reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. He looked up and down the alleyway before quickly shoving the envelope into Waylon's hand and taking a micro-step back.

"Okay, Deep Throat, what's with the secrecy? This thing going to self-destruct?"

"I'll go with you," said Miles, jerking his chin toward the letter. "If you even want to go at all, I mean."

Waylon's forehead creased as he stared down at the envelope. It was fine paper—thick, and the address was written by hand in fancy calligraphy. He broke the seal and saw that it had been resealed with Scotch tape.

"Tampering with someone's mail is a federal offense, Miles."

"I throw out your junk mail, which is most of it," said Miles, shrugging. "This seemed different, but those fuckers are getting sneakier and sneakier. Had to be sure it wasn't some dumb invitation to try out some Happy-Ending Spa."

"What would I do without you looking out for me," said Waylon, snickering as he pulled out the letter. "Saving me from all the handjobs."

The letter that emerged was on heavy cardstock, each letter engraved into the paper and carefully placed. It was an invitation to a wedding. _Lisa's_ wedding.

"Shit," whispered Waylon, shaking his head. "She's getting married? But, she's so young!"

"She's twenty-two, man," said Miles.

"That's way too fucking young to get married…" muttered Waylon. "Hope she's not pregnant."

"She's been dating Justin all through high school, and college, I dunno," said Miles, shrugging. "You know how mature she is for her age."

"How mature we both had to be," said Waylon.

"Yeah, you're _real_ mature," said Miles, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up," said Waylon, sticking out his tongue. He stared down at the date of the wedding and frowned. "I can't go to this. Dad would freak out."

A tiny, handwritten note in Lisa's chicken-scratch handwriting fluttered out of the envelope. Waylon attempted to catch it, and failed, eventually hopping to bend down and pick up the tiny scrap.

 _Way,_

 _I know you and dad didn't part on the best terms, but he said you could come. It's my day, after all, and you are my brother, and still my favorite person in the entire world. I love you. If you can make it, there's a place in the wedding party for you. And no, I'm not pregnant._

 _Love,_

 _Lis_

"She's not pregnant," said Waylon, humming softly to himself.

"Yeah, I was shocked, too," said Miles, shrugging. "Who'd wanna get married in this day and age?"

"Me," said Waylon, without hesitation.

"Yeah, well, you're weird," said Miles, adjusting his shades on his nose. "Look, it pains me to say this but, I miss you. Like, a lot. What are you doing right now? You wanna go grab some food? Some beers?"

"I can't, I'm waiting on Eddie to finish talking to the producer, then we're going home," said Waylon.

"Well, can we get together soon? I could come by the house."

"There's no way in hell Eddie would have a paparazzo in his house, Miles, be reasonable…"

"Then, let's go out, damn, you name the day, and…"

"I'll have to run it by Eddie, first," said Waylon. "He can be a little…possessive. I don't want him to get the wrong idea about me and you."

"Does he know about me?" asked Miles. The flat tone of his voice said he already suspected the answer.

Waylon remained silent, gnawing at his lip. He should have told Eddie about Miles. He should have told him more about himself, in general. But Eddie hadn't asked, and Waylon wasn't big on offering up information about his fucked up past. "No."

"Well, let me introduce myself right now, I have some time before this thing I have to photograph later at a new nightclub down near Vine."

"I just, I don't know if that's a good idea right now, and…"

"Why not?"

"Because Eddie just, he gets jealous, sometimes, I don't know if he'd like me going out with another man, especially not a man that I have history with."

"But we're not together, anymore? I just need to talk to you about some stuff that's going on, okay? It's starting to get a little scary."

"Eddie already has a lot of trouble being jealous over my past career," said Waylon. "I don't know what he'd think if he found out I'm roommates and best friends with one of my past co-workers."

"Co-worker? Dude, I never got paid for any of that," said Miles. "And, I mean, ouch, I thought we were more."

"I made money and used it to pay you rent, so yes, you got paid…"

"Well, I was happy to fuck you for free, cookie dough."

"What a generous guy," said Waylon, dryly.

"Well, I can afford to be generous," said Miles, grabbing his crotch and grinning. "I have so much to give."

"God, Miles, you never change," said Waylon, laughing. "I told Eddie I'd meet him right outside, we're going to be kissing and posing for pictures if you want in on it."

"A possessive weirdo," said Miles, sighing. "Ya think you'll ever have a healthy relationship, cupcake?"

"I don't think I'm capable, considering my family, and the guy I spent the last five years shacked up with," said Waylon, swaying to nudge Miles with his body.

"Touche," said Miles.

* * *

"EDDIE! EDDIE!"

Cameras clicked and people screamed when Eddie finally emerged from the back of H _ollywood Minute's_ soundstage.

Eddie waved and smiled for the crowd. Somehow he honed in on Waylon's location and waved him over. Once Waylon was close enough, Eddie pulled him tight against his side and smiled for the cameras. Eddie barely flinched when Waylon turned in and smooched him on the cheek. The photogs hooted and cheered encouragement.

Waylon hoped Miles was nearby getting something good to sell.

For several minutes, Eddie took an offered Sharpie and signed away at several glossy black and white photographs of himself. Someone held out fanart of the Executioner passionately embracing Metalneck and requested a signature. Waylon snickered.

It was a shock when one man in a yellow collared Polo shirt and khakis called out to Waylon. "Excuse me, Waylon? Could I get your autograph? Just you!"

"Me?!" asked Waylon, ashamed at how squeaky his voice had become. He was thrilled as he nudged Eddie's arm and held out his hand to borrow the pen. He practically skipped over to the guy, a huge smile on his face, before he saw the photograph.

The man held out two glossy photographs of Waylon. One of them he was on his knee, staring up through a mask of come, and in the other, he was riding a massive, shiny black dildo.

"Ah," said Waylon, his smile vanishing. He quickly scribbled 'fuck you' on one of the pictures before capping the pen and handing it back to Eddie. "I wanna leave."

"Of course, darling," said Eddie. He returned the pen, paused for a few last photographs with fans, using their own phones to take selfies. He must have taken long strides or jogged because he arrived at the limousine at the same time as Waylon. "Something the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," said Waylon, biting his lips into a line. Eddie refused to open the door, staring into Waylon's eyes. "Sorry, it's really nothing."

"Did that man say something to you? Something inappropriate?" asked Eddie, eyes serious and glinting.

"What? No," said Waylon, sighing. "He just, wanted me to sign some pictures of myself. They weren't very flattering pictures."

"Ah," said Eddie, nodding. David approached from the side and held open the door. "It happens. I think I signed more of that 'fanart' you told me about."

"Yeah you did," said Waylon, laughing as he slid into the backseat, scooting over to leave enough room for Eddie. As soon as Eddie's weight settled next to him, another sigh formed. "That was rough."

"Even knowing the questions, I wasn't prepared for how difficult some would be to answer," said Eddie, nodding in agreement as David slammed the door closed.

"Yeah," said Waylon. "I'm just glad she left my past alone after you shut her down."

There was a brief lull in the conversation as the car whirred to life and lurched into motion. Waylon stared at the crowd, still staring, some even still photographing or taking video with tiny cameras. It was a feeling unlike any other, as though he was watching himself through their eyes. The pornstar masquerading as a real actor and putting his filthy hands over America's favorite bachelor. Shameful.

"What are you doing tonight?" asked Eddie, ripping Waylon from his dark thoughts.

"Wha, me?" asked Waylon before giving a loud pfft. "Nothing? You have boys night so I was gonna go home and probably eat ice cream and drink wine to recover from this interview."

"Would you rather have dinner with me, and my friends?" asked Eddie.

"Really?" asked Waylon, head whipping around. "Your mysterious group of friends? You're inviting me to meet them? Really?!"

"Absolutely," said Eddie, smiling at Waylon in the dim interior light of the cab.

"Will they tell embarrassing stories about you if I ask?!"

"Not if they know what's good for them."

* * *

The restaurant looked old but well maintained. Faded brick facade and overgrown window boxes. It was located well away from the main thoroughfares where the majority of Tinseltown chose to eat. The dining room was half full of families and business people. When the older woman behind the hostess table spotted Eddie, she nodded and motioned toward a dark red curtained partition near the back.

Waylon followed Eddie through the false wall and into a private room that might act as a banquet room on occasion. That night it was only one round table, set for four. Fine white china, some of the plates slightly chipped, was set on a deep maroon tablecloth.

Waylon was shocked when he recognized one of the men seated at the table. "Chris?"

"Waylon," said Chris Walker, knees causing all the silverware to rattle as he struggled to stand up quickly. Chris was as tall as Eddie and twice as wide. His hand was soft and gentle when he extended it with a congenial smile that softened his face, despite his several-times fractured nose. "This is a surprise, Eddie never brings friends."

"I feel special," said Waylon, smirking as he shook Chris' giant paw. "Nice to see a friendly face!"

"I can't believe you'd say that about me, considering the last time we saw each other, I was scripted to, uh, well…"

"Chris, do you mind doing introductions?" asked Eddie. "I'm going to find Roberta and get an extra place setting…"

"Already on it," piped the hostess, approaching with a napkin full of silverware and another plate. She bustled about quickly creating another place at the table, and pulling up a chair.

"Okay, so, lemme introduce the guys," said Chris, still smiling warmly. Eddie pressed past Chris and Waylon to take a seat next to a man with a mop of thick, black hair. Half of his face was severely scarred, and the other handsome and smirking. Chris gestured at the scarred man first. "That guy there, that's Aiden, but most people just call him Pyro."

"Pyrotechnics specialist, at your service," said Aiden, giving a fake salute. "Maybe you get cast in an action film next and we can work together."

"And that shrimpy guy there, that's Billy," said Chris, drawing Waylon's eye to the younger man at the table. Billy had a buzz-cut and wore a collared blue shirt with "Hope Agencies" emblazoned on the shoulder.

Billy stood up, causing his napkin to drop to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up and extended the napkin to Waylon before realizing his mistake and offering his bare hand, instead. "Billy. Billy Hope, nice to meet you."

"Wait, Hope?" asked Waylon. "Are you related to…oh shit, wait, you're William Hope?"

"Guilty," said Chris, chuckling to himself. "Billy's retired now, though."

"You played Eddie's son in _Death League_!"

"Um, yeah, among a few other things," said Billy, looking down and rubbing his arm. "Well, you're gonna love this place, Robbie and Vinnie are the real deal, sit down, wontcha?"

"Nice to meet you all," said Waylon, sitting at the newly set place on the table between Eddie and Billy.

"So anyways, like I was saying, this chick was smokin' hot, pun intended, but she couldn't take direction to save her damn life. There are cameras on it, every angle, we did all we could, but she went full-on Michael Jackson near some controlled burns. It's was gnarly, already blistered, gotta be hurting like a bitch, I know. Anyways, the crew is putting on a fundraiser for pay for her hospital bills, you guys should come."

"Count me in," said Chris, nodding. "That poor girl."

"Workman's compensation insurance obviously helps, but there's so much more than just the surgery bills when you're talking about having that much scar tissue on your face," said Aiden.

"She's gonna need a friend like you," said Billy, quietly.

Aiden hummed thoughtful, before shrugging. "Anyways, Waylon Park, huh? How's the movie going? You guys wrapped yet?"

"Almost," said Waylon, smiling a bit too large thanks to nerves. "I'm a little sad for it to be over."

"Same here," said Eddie, smiling at Waylon.

"Oh, bullshit," said Chris, laughing. "We all know you get tired of projects before the end, Ed."

"Not this one," Eddie insisted. His gaze and tone were so serious, it quieted the laughter immediately.

"I'm glad you found a project you believe in so much, Boss," said Billy, smiling.

"So, do you get naked in the film?" asked Aiden, leering at Waylon.

"They don't show my dick, but they show pretty much everything else," said Waylon. "So, it's really a new kind of thing for me…" The guys laughed, looking mixed parts nervous and genuinely amused.

"What's been the hardest part," asked Chris, holding up two fingers, "shooting a movie with Mr. Perfectionist here, or pretending to be his boyfriend?"

Waylon sucked in a surprised breath, body going rigid. He stared at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know what you mean…"

"They know, darling," said Eddie, smiling at the hostess as a fresh basket of steaming breadsticks arrived at the table. "These are my closest friends, we have been together for years. They know all about me."

"You guys know that Eddie fake dates people, and you're okay with it?" asked Waylon, glancing from Aiden, Billy, to Chris.

"Sure," said Aiden, shrugging. "Whatever works for Eddie."

"It's strange," said Billy, humming softly. "At least, I thought so at first, but now it's so natural for Eddie to have someone around. I think it's nice. I hate to think of the boss getting lonely."

"We try to talk him out of his weirdo behavior, but there's only so much we can do," said Chris, grinning. "And we love Eddie, just how he is, right Ed?"

"Fuck off," said Eddie, mouth full of breadstick. The sentiment caused the group to break into new rounds of laughter.

The boys quizzed Waylon on everything from how he liked the job, to the house, to whether or not Eddie was treating him kindly. They were genuinely worried about Waylon's well-being, or so it seemed.

"It is rather odd, you're the only one of these fake dates he ever brought here," said Aiden, chewing on his pasta after it arrived. "I mean, I met almost all of them, at parties and events and whatnot, but never here."

"Nah, this place is sacred," said Billy, mouth full of chicken parmigiana.

"Hail Vino's," said Chris, holding up a breadstick like a scepter.

Chris talked about his current television show. The writers succeeded in adding an entire side-plot to his character that ended with a cliff-hanger on whether Chris won or lost his fight.

"The writers say they wanna wait and see how the character does with audiences before they decide whether I win and stick around, or lose and cut out. They already had me film both endings."

"The audience is gonna love you," said Billy, nodding. The youngest member of the group talked about his work at the Hope Agency for Child Actors.

"You're like, an agent? Like Andrew?" asked Waylon, slurping a long strand of spaghetti into his mouth.

"Hey, that's not fair, Andrew's _barely_ an agent," said Aiden, snickering.

"Well, I'm more like an advocate," said Billy, smiling at Waylon. "I work with child actors, more a volunteering of my time. They don't pay me, the agency does. I work to keep them protected from unsafe working conditions or uncomfortable situation. And we help find them legal representation if things become problematic."

Waylon chewed as he mulled that over. Did Billy mean problematic as in what had happened to Eddie as a child actor? Waylon wished he knew more about Billy's own filmography, but he found himself drawing a blank.

Eddie prattled on about Dennis, and shooting, and often stopped to include Waylon in their stories about luring out the paparazzi during their scheduled dinners, and the more interesting scenes they got to shoot together.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to visit the facilities," said Eddie, wiping his mouth with his napkin before dropping it on the table and walking away.

"Don't worry, Boss, we'll take care of Waylon," said Billy, grinning.

Eddie didn't make it far, due to running into the hostess who immediately began to chatter away at him, a huge smile on her face.

"Why do you call him Boss?" asked Waylon, grinning at Billy.

"Because he's my boss," said Billy, matter-of-fact.

"Like, when you were in movies together?" asked Waylon.

"As in, Eddie owns the Hope Agency," said Billy. "He pays my salary. He's hands-on with every case we tackle, and selects our staff personally. We need marketers to get word out there, lawyers to help with the legal ramifications…"

"That Jessica that you mentioned?" asked Waylon.

Chris cleared his throat loudly, and Aiden caught Waylon's eye and shook his head slightly.

"It's okay, guys," said Billy, chuckling softly to himself. "I can't really discuss the case of the children we work with. Jessica isn't her real name, though. She's accusing her manager father of some unsavory behavior. We have a strong case, physical evidence as well as security footage, so we are going to court to defend her, and help her get independent from him."

"Wow," said Waylon, dropping his fork. "You're a saint!"

"Nah, just, helping out a cause close to my heart," said Billy, quietly.

"And Eddie's heart," said Aiden. "After so many people looked at his story like some tragedy that happened in a bubble, he realized if he wanted something done, he'd have to do it himself. So he started the agency, he takes care of any of his child actors in his movies, he's always fighting for the kids. This is an ugly business, sometimes. Kids shouldn't be involved in the seedier parts of this hell business."

"When I met Eddie on set, I was only nine, but he took me under his wing," said Billy. "He saw that my parents were mistreating me, mishandling my earnings, and when they brought me to an industry party one night Eddie hit the roof. There were drugs on every surface, and sexual acts happening out in the open. He worked with his lawyers to get me free from their guardianship, then he watched after me for a while, personally."

"Really?! Wha…how come I never heard about anything like that?!"

"Eddie doesn't like to broadcast stuff about his personal life, in case you hadn't noticed," said Chris. "That's where the contracts come in. Keep a string of beautiful women—sorry, or beautiful men—around and people are happy to report on him being a womanizer and a party boy. Leaves him free to work on his own pet projects."

"Like this restaurant," said Chris, gesturing around the empty banquet room. "Eddie loved eating here. So he bought it, and gifted it to Vinnie and Roberta. He pays for every meal, and tips generously, like a regular customer. He just really liked their food. They're from Sicily, first-generation immigrants, Roberta's got five kids, and over thirteen grandkids now, I kinda lost count…"

"Wow," said Waylon, laughing to himself. "Eddie just keeps getting more and more perfect, huh?"

"He paid for all my surgeries, after my accident," said Aiden, gesturing toward his face. "I got injured on the set of _Trial by Fire_ , Eddie was the lead, and he never left my side. He's a good guy."

"But why all the secrecy? He's such a great guy, surely he could just find someone worthy of his time and companionship and date openly?" asked Waylon, frowning.

"Pauline, man," said Aiden. The mere word made Chris frown as though he'd smelled something nasty, and Billy sighed heavily. "Pauline Glick."

"The actress Eddie made the sex tape with," said Waylon, the information coming to him automatically. He'd watched the video so many times online he had memorized every position and movement, every moan and sigh. "She started the contracts?"

"She made him feel they were necessary," said Billy, scowling. "After she blackmailed him, used him, put a private, intimate moment out there for everyone to see…Eddie felt it was necessary to protect himself. So far it's worked out for him."

"I met Eddie through my sister, Hailey Walker," said Chris.

"Wait, I didn't realize your sister was Hailey Walker, the evil witch from that cable show about King Arthur's time?"

"Yeah, _Merlin's Bride_ , that's' her. Hailey met Eddie on the set of _Hardened Earth_ , and he proposed that they appear to date for the ratings, and she agreed," said Chris, chuckling. "They became such great friends. Still are. Lots of Eddie's exes are great friends. I mean, he's the godfather to both of her kids, they call him Uncle Eddie. I get jealous sometimes…"

Billy snickered at Chris' pretend expression of outrage. Aiden joined in when Chris added a large pout of his lower lip.

"Does Eddie fall for any of his contract relationships?" asked Waylon. The humor seemed to drain immediately as Chris cleared his throat, Aiden's napkin suddenly became incredibly interesting to him, and Billy frowned gently at Waylon.

"No," said Billy, quietly. "Though maybe the fact that you're here explains some of that."

Chris hummed softly to himself. "I remember he took up with some guys back in his wilder years, but the press seemed to report they were all only friends. Then all the women he dated through the contracts. Maybe Eddie's only interested in an actual relationship with a man."

And the thought process ended there when Eddie reappeared through the curtained partition. He reached the table and stared at his friends' strange expressions. "So, Waylon…dessert?"

* * *

Full of food, Waylon almost dozed off in the limousine on the way home. He couldn't believe all the information he had learned. Eddie was even more generous and kind than he appeared on the surface. His friends thought highly of him, and they seemed to think highly of Waylon, as well.

The car pulling up to Eddie's Bel Aire mansion woke Waylon. David opened their limousine door, and then Eddie walked to the side-door and held it open for Waylon. They both waved goodnight to David and stepped inside.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," said Eddie.

"It was nice to have a dinner without posing for any annoying photos," said Waylon, smiling softly.

Eddie started to walk toward the staircase and up to his bedroom, but Waylon trotted and grabbed his hand. When Eddie turned around, Waylon pressed their lips together, tightly.

"I like your friends," breathed Waylon when they parted.

"They seem to like you, as well," said Eddie.

"Can I see them again?" asked Waylon.

"I don't see why not," said Eddie, leaning back in to kiss Waylon, again. "I've already invited them all to the wrap party, whenever it happens. I know they'll make it."

"Ah," said Waylon, cutting off the sentence with another kiss. God, it felt good to kiss Eddie, the lingering taste of wine on his lips. The dinner had been filling and Waylon felt sleepy and heavy. And brave. "Can I sleep in your bed, tonight?"

Eddie's breath hitched slightly, but in the dim light of the entryway Waylon could make out a small nod.

Waylon's heart hammered away as he followed Eddie up the stairs and through the double doors at the end of the hall. Eddie's room was spacious with dark wooden furniture in a modern style. A gigantic bed with fluffy white comforter dominated the area, along with a chest of drawers and a large wardrobe.

As much as Waylon wished to explore, he instead focused on removing his clothes, watching as Eddie undressed, laid his clothing out on a small bench at the end of the bed. Once Eddie was down to his black boxer briefs, he walked to the wardrobe and swung open the doors.

Waylon kicked his own clothes into a pile in the corner of the room. He was wearing boy-cut blue shorts with spaceships patterned on the fabric. When he turned back around, Eddie was wearing a soft, gray shirt and satin black pants.

"Do you wish to borrow some pajamas?" asked Eddie.

"Um, I don't usually, sleep in uh, much…"

"That's fine," said Eddie, smiling softly in the cozy room. He walked to the bed and pat the comforter. "This is my side."

"I understand," said Waylon, nodding. He walked to the other side and pulled the comforter back. The mattress he sunk into was similar to the one in his own room. But the gentle weight next to him was not. Waylon rolled over and stared into Eddie's eyes when he found him staring as well.

Eddie sighed and scooted closer on the mattress, reaching out one arm. "Do you mind being the small spoon?"

"Um, no," said Waylon, his skin immediately heating up. Could Eddie see him blushing in the dark room?

Eddie nodded and waited as Waylon rolled over to face away. A strong hand hooked Waylon's waist and pulled him closer until they were spooned against one another. Eddie gave a long, soft sigh.

Waylon worried he might never sleep due to the excitement. But when he felt soft lips gently burrow into his curls and leave a soft kiss, something like euphoria overtook him and he slipped away into warm, pleasant dreams.

* * *

A/N: Tons of plot, I know. Thanks Ria for sticking with me, and to the other fan! Next chapter, we're going to a wedding, and it's all Eddie's POV (this was all Waylon)


	16. Chapter 16: Background

**Background**

A soft weight against Eddie's chest and the comforting sound of deep breathing. Things were getting blurry. Not Eddie's vision, which was hyper-focused on the sleep-relaxed face of his bedmate. Blurry feelings.

Waylon always looked young and fit, but when sleeping he looked innocent. Youth touched every facet of his sleeping face. Relaxation erased years, revealing baby fat still clinging to the apples of his cheeks.

As the space between them dwindled, feelings grew to become unavoidable. Eddie knew he should pull away, wake up, shower, start his day. But his body felt impossibly heavy when he even considered leaving Waylon.

The thought of unfocused brown eyes stirred something in Eddie. Not in the usual place, which led to the usual conclusion, but between the reinforced steel cage of his ribs. Something was getting through Eddie's defenses. A growing part of him felt something more.

And that was dangerous.

A _chirp_ from Waylon's phone on the counter roused him. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and feigned sleep, though if his ears were able to perk up like a dog's they would have. He listened as Waylon shuffled through the covers to reach his phone.

"Oh my god, you sound so good, I've missed you so much," said Waylon.

Eddie peeked one eye open and saw Waylon's hand slide up to wipe at his cheeks.

"I know, I know, I'm so happy for you."

Privacy, or support? Eddie's unsure which is right to give Waylon in that moment. Who could possibly be on the phone making Waylon cry while sounding so happy?

"Yeah, no, I got it, I got it last week," said Waylon, pausing to laugh. "You're surprised? Of course, he probably sat on it for a month. Typical." Eddie heard Waylon fighting laughter. "He offered to come with me. It took everything in my power not to tell him exactly how unwelcome that would be."

A long exhale from Waylon filled the silence between speaking.

"I'm really not sure," said Waylon, a hand coming up to ruffle his unruly bed-head. "Well, I'm just working on the movie. It's gonna wrap soon. It's a really bad time for me to be out of town." A pause. "Eddie? Uh, I don't think that's a good…"

Eddie cleared his throat, the noise causing Waylon to jump so violently he almost dropped his phone off the bed. Eddie raised a single eyebrow when their eyes locked.

"We're both busy with the shoot, but I'll talk to him about it," said Waylon, giving a sheepish grin. "Absolutely. No, I agree, I'll call you soon. I love you, too. Later."

Waylon's hand visibly shook when he pulled the phone away. He let out a long, shaky breath. "Ugh, eyes are sweaty," said Waylon, snickering to himself. "Sorry. That was my sister."

Eddie waited patiently until Waylon continued.

"She's getting married."

"When is the wedding?" asked Eddie.

"I mean, it's this weekend, but I didn't even know about it until last week, and, anyway, it's not a great idea for me to go, considering my family, but…"

"Does your sister want you there?" asked Eddie.

"Yeah," said Waylon, sighing. "Yeah, she does. Wants me to be her…man of honor? Maid of honor? I don't know, really. But I don't know, me being there would probably piss off my dad, so, it's for Lisa's benefit that I shouldn't go."

"You should go," said Eddie.

Waylon shook his head, grinning. "It's alright. I'm happier here with you." Waylon reached a hand over to gently squeeze Eddie's as it rests on top of the comforter.

"I'll go with you," said Eddie.

"You…" Waylon's mouth gaped. "You're not joking?" When Eddie only shook his head, solemnly, Waylon spluttered and continued. "You wanna come to a family event-with _me_?"

"Waylon, we're dating, you are contractually obligated to accompany me to social events, but I am obligated to you, as well. If there is a wedding, it makes sense that your partner would attend with you. This is a good opportunity for us to make a headline for a good cause: your sister's nuptials."

"Nuptials," said Waylon, snickering. "Sounds dirty."

"Grow up," said Eddie.

"I still don't know," said Waylon, trying to smile through a furrowed brow. "Schedule's tight, we'd have to run it by Dennis, and what if the crew can't do it, then…"

"I'll talk to Dennis. There won't be any problems, I assure you."

* * *

The Delaware Hotel felt more like someone's grandmother's guest house than a commercial hotel. Tall armoires, whimsical chairs, and quirky carvings littered the lobby. Even a ceramic mushroom on the front desk that looked entirely too much like a penis couldn't make Waylon crack a smile.

Waylon had been uncharacteristically quiet the entire journey. He barely talked in the limousine, he slept on the plane, and he'd spent the last two-hour drive to Leadville, Colorado staring listlessly out the window.

They barely had enough time to unpack their toiletries before a loud knock on the door broke the spell. Waylon flung the door open as soon as he peered through the peephole.

"WAY!"

"LIS!"

Waylon and Lisa Park looked ridiculously similar. Waylon had called them "Irish Twins" but Lisa was actually eleven months younger. They shared identical curly, golden locks and dark, brown eyes.

A small entourage of women followed Lisa into the suite wearing the same aqua colored gowns. They all cooed and fawned over Waylon, making introductions that were immediately forgotten.

"And you," said Lisa, pulling away from the group to extend a hand to Eddie. "Eddie Gluskin, holy shit, wow, welcome to Leadville, thanks for dragging my brother here."

"He didn't drag me," said Waylon, smirking, "We flew first class."

"Oh, well, fancy, excuse me," said Lisa, grinning before wrapping an arm around Waylon's waist. "I'm so glad you're here. You gotta come downstairs for pictures. Even if you won't be in the ceremony, you have to be in the pictures. It's all family."

"Deal," said Waylon, smiling. "Wait, is dad gonna be in the pictures?"

"Some of them," said Lisa, biting her lip. "But don't worry, he promised to behave. Leave him to me, okay? Mom's coming later, as long as every thing's copacetic back at the home."

"Mom's coming here? I thought for sure I'd have to drive to see her tomorrow," said Waylon.

"I can't get married without my mom there," said Lisa. She was smiling, but in the hotel lamplight, Eddie spotted unshed tears.

"Of course not," said Waylon, pulling Lisa into another tight hug. "Sorry I haven't been here…"

"Stop it," said Lisa, releasing Waylon to bring both hands up to her face where she quickly swipes away tears. "You help us so much, you have no idea the treatments she's gotten to experience and the place where she's staying now…gah, I can't cry right now, I have makeup in thirty minutes, come on, you're hanging with the girls for now."

"Wait," said Waylon, turning to stare at Eddie. "Will you be alright?"

"There's an open bar, all day, in the lobby," said Lisa, smiling from behind Waylon.

"In that case, I'll be fine," said Eddie.

* * *

"I'm Amy," said a woman with thick, chunky highlights and a too-tight lavender blouse.

"I'm Beth," said an almost identical woman wearing a pink tube dress. "We're twins."

"I might have guessed," said Eddie, smiling.

"We're, like, your biggest fans," said Amy, twirling her hair around her fingertip. "You might not have guessed that!"

"I loved you in _Landmines_ , that uniform was the stuff of legends," said Amy.

"I married my husband because he looks like you, well, not _you_ you, but he looks like you in _The Color of Friendship._ You were so dreamy in that movie," said Beth, sighing like an actress in an angsty teen romance.

" _The Seven Moons of Europa_ was my favorite film of the entire year," said Amy.

"Really?" asked Eddie, voice raising two octaves.

"Oh, absolutely, you in space tights?" Beth and Amy closed their lips and made identical _mmm_ noises.

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, ladies, but if you'll excuse me a moment," said Eddie, standing up with a nod. He walked toward the bar under the guise of ordering another drink. Neither woman noticed that his glass was still full of Scotch.

Eddie's attempt to hide at the bar quietly until the ceremony proved a colossal failure.

He sat at the bar, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to look smaller. Inconspicuous. Not easy for a six-and-a-half foot tall man. The seat next to him made a loud _squeak_ as it pulled out and groaned uncomfortably when a heavyset man sat down. He chose the barstool uncomfortably close to Eddie, despite the bar being mostly empty.

"Mr. Gluskin, pleasure to meet you, my name's Clay, I'm Waylon's cousin."

"Nice to meet you," said Eddie, giving only the briefest side-eye and hoping against hope that the man might take the hint and move away.

"I had a question I wanted to ask you," said Clay, turning in his chair until he was staring directly at Eddie instead of at the bar like a civilized human. "In _Executioner III: Heads Will Roll,_ there's a scene where you flip a switch in The Guillotine, and the rockets jut out from the ceiling to launch at the enemy, but in _Executioner VIII: Perfect Execution_ , the rockets extend from the side, and then flip up to the top. Which is the canonical way that the rockets should move to become armed?"

Eddie sighed.

"And _The Seven Moons of Europa_?" asked Clay, pressing on, "You're aware, I hope, that Europa is one of the moons of Jupiter. It doesn't have seven moons of its own." Clay snorted at his observation.

"Did you also notice how the landscape of Europa's seven moons all looked remarkably similar to Southern California?" asked Eddie.

Clay opened his mouth, then shut it.

"They're just movies, Clay. Suspend your disbelief. And _Executioner VIII_ was mostly cut-footage from other Executioner films, mixed in with a few different reaction shots of me and that entire, convoluted subplot about the witches."

Eddie stood up and looked across the room. Waylon's laugh caught his ear. Waylon stood, surrounded by men and women in formal clothing. Everyone smiled and talked, drinks in hand. Waylon radiated warmth and joy.

"Mister?"

Forcing his eyes away, Eddie looked to his left in time to see Clay cutting a hasty retreat, then looked further down. A young girl in a puffy pink dress stood staring up at him, a curious look on her face.

"Well, hello there, darling," said Eddie, dropping to a knee. "Your dress is simply amazing, who are you wearing?"

The little girl giggled and smiled, showing off a missing bottom tooth. "My momma wouldn't let me see the moon movie. She said I was too little."

"Well, your mother knows what's best for you, but one day, when you're older, I hope you enjoy it," said Eddie, smiling.

"My daddy said he used to be a big fan of yours, but not anymore—since you're a flaming homosexual who's gonna catch AIDs from Cousin Way."

Eddie's face immediately hardened, then he remembered he spoke to a child and not the origin of such hateful language. "I don't think I'm going to be a fan of your father, either. And that is very hateful language, you should not repeat such rude words."

"Are you really gonna get AIDS? I don't want Alfie to get AIDS."

"Madison! There you are," said a man in a black suit with a receding hairline. "Don't bother Mr. Gluskin! The ceremony is about to start."

Eddie stood back up to full height, towering over what he assumed was Madison's father. He glared at the man.

"See you later, Mister!" said Madison, waving and smiling. The man led her away through the double doors into the large room where the ceremony would occur.

"Hey Eddie," said Waylon, appearing at Eddie's side with a huge grin on his face. "I see you met Cousin Maddie. She's the youngest of the clan until my cousin Lacy has her baby in a few months."

"Charmed," said Eddie, forcing a smile.

"C'mon, we don't wanna miss the ceremony," said Waylon. "Lisa promised it's gonna be fast."

* * *

How many photograph sessions did one bride need? The ceremony was short, as promised, but Eddie found himself left alone, again, once the bride was thoroughly kissed. Eddie ordered a fresh drink and retreated down an empty corridor.

Eddie found a plastic chair in a dark storage room, near enough that he could hear the party, but far enough away that the only people he saw cross in front of his doorway were confused guests that took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom.

"Oh, hey," said Waylon. His profile perfectly framed by the doorway; his silhouette lit from behind by the bright hallway lights filtering into Eddie's dark hiding place.

Eddie started to respond...

"Fancy seein' you here," said a low voice with a Southern drawl.

Something about the tone. Eddie moved to the edge of his seat.

"Yeah," said Waylon, laughing nervously. "I was surprised, too. But, it's Lisa's day, that's why I made the effort. I'm not staying around, or anything. Not here to start trouble."

"I see you brought the Executioner as your date," said the voice. "Tryin' to keep folk from focusing too much on you?"

"I brought Eddie because he's my partner," said Waylon, voice calm and even. "We're a couple."

"And he's okay with you? He's okay with what you are?"

"Eddie knows all about me."

"Really?" asked the voice.

"Sorry that's so hard for you to understand, but some people are gay, and I'm done apologizing for it."

"Oh, cut your bullshit," said the voice, punctuating with a loud spit. A broad form stepped into the door frame, closer to Waylon. The outline showcased the only person at the wedding wearing a baseball cap. The one person Waylon was trying to avoid completely.

"You always did try to do that," said Waylon's father. "You try to make out like I'm some kinda homophobe because I don't like people watching my son get fucked on the Internet."

"It's a legitimate career," said Waylon. "You don't like it, fine, but it's my choice, and I'm getting into mainstream acting now. So maybe that can cheer you up some, dad."

"Don't call me that," hissed Waylon's father. "My friend, Benny, showed me a video where you called a wrinkled old man 'dad' while committing sins of the flesh, so how about you never call me that, again?"

"Sorry, Mark."

"You're a fuckin' disappointment, kid. You think there's a ton of places to work in this town? I ain't got a choice but to show up, every day, where Benny and the gang can ridicule me about whatever new disgusting thing you're broadcasting. Fucking men was something I could handle, but fucking men for money? And bragging about it?"

"That's not how it is."

"That's exactly how it is, Waylon," said Mark, shaking his head. "The degrading shit you do. Cliff's favorite thing to do is send me random links, claiming to be anything else, but they're always videos of you. I gotta click out of them before I see anything too traumatic, but sometimes I'm too slow."

"Fetish and extreme stuff pay better," said Waylon, shrugging. "We need the money, and besides, I haven't done those types of videos in over a year."

"The _money_ , yeah, that always was your excuse," said Mark, chuckling. "But I know you better than you think, boy. I lived it, too, ya know? It wasn't easy getting out there, earning money, raising you kids, dealing with what life dealt us…"

"Dealing?" asked Waylon, scoffing. "Dealing is drinking yourself into a coma every night? When exactly were you raising kids, because Lisa and I had to come home to an empty house, every day, and take care of mom, and then we'd take care of you when you stumbled home. The medical bills you never talked about—we saw them laid out on the counter, new ones every week, most overdue, and that treatment you didn't want to pay for."

"I was the adult, it was my decision to make, you think that was easy for me?" asked Mark.

"I know if I was sick, I'd want someone to pay for the treatment, no matter how expensive or experimental. You can't put a price tag on a human's life-a _mother's_ life. If I start showing symptoms, I hope someone will pay to get me treatment and not just give up and wait the next twenty years."

"Oh, get off your high horse, you ain't sick. If you're so worried about it, why don't you go get tested like your sister?" asked Mark. "I did the best I could for your mom."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You believe your way was better, then? I didn't even know the names of the things you did. I had to go to the Urban Dictionary to look up snowballing and bukake which have nothing to do with actual snow or Japanese fighting techniques. I don't know why you came here. You're disgusting. Everyone here's seen you beg for a shot of piss to the face. No one respects you. No one here wants anything to do with you."

Eddie's fist connected with Mark's jawbone. He didn't remember standing up, but the feel of his hand rearranging Mark's facial bones was undeniably real. Mark staggered into the wall, clutching his face. "What the fuck…" He stared, wide-eyed, at Eddie. "You?! _Executioner I_ and _II_ were my two all-time favorite movies, but now the world's ruined those, too."

"Dad…"

"I told you not to fuckin' call me that," said Mark, ruddy spit flying from his slack mouth.

"Get away from him. Right. Now." Eddie's voice was cold rage.

"Yeah, yeah," said Mark, staggering back down the hall, toward the reception. "Make sure you two get on outta here, understood?"

"I have no desire to be here even a second longer," said Eddie, voice deadly cold.

"Probably best if you stay away, kid."

"Gladly," said Waylon.

"You're dating a human toilet, Gluskin. Congratulations. You have my blessing to do whatever the hell you want with him."

Eddie's entire body tensed in preparation for another swing, but his mind remained resolute. He couldn't cause more trouble than he already had. He picked up his phone and dialed Andrew. While the phone rang in his ear, Waylon was already walking toward the exit at the end of the long hall.

"Waylon, wait," said Eddie.

"Hello?" asked Andrew's voice over the line.

"Andrew, get down to Leadville, to the wedding, I need you to cut a large check to the bride, and get the dad to sign some papers saying he won't sue."

"What the fuck did you do, Ed?"

"Punched a guy, not important, just get it done."

A quick _beep_ ended the call.

"Waylon!"

"No," said Waylon, breaking into a sprint. He hit the door with the force of a lineman, but the heavy door was slow, allowing Eddie time to catch up.

"Darling, slow down—don't' let that guy get to you."

"That guy? That was my _father_ , Eddie, my father. That's what the man that sired me and raised me thinks of me. A human toilet, a…" Waylon's breathing became shallow, quickly evolving into something unable to support human life.

Eddie wrapped his arm around Waylon's waist and led him out the exit door. Saplings surrounded by petunias bloomed in the otherwise sterile parking lot of the hotel. Several birds chirped, their songs competing with the traffic, and Waylon's hyperventilating.

"Just breathe, every thing's going to be fine, we're out of there," said Eddie.

"You should go," Waylon choked out. He bent over at the waist and stared down at the asphalt. "Go back inside, wait for me in the room, I'll take a walk and go back to the reception."

"You want to stay, after what that beast said to you?"

"No, I don't wanna stay here, I wanna be alone…but I gotta see my mom."

"Your mother…are her feelings similar to those of your father?" asked Eddie.

"No, she's…she's sick," said Waylon, a single sob escaping before he regains himself. "She doesn't remember."

"Is it dementia?" asked Eddie, his tone gentle like when speaking to one of his young clients at the agency.

"Huntington's."

The disease claimed another memory-this time before it could even be created. Waylon's mother was unhealthy that evening and unable to attend Lisa's wedding. Waylon's body hunched when he learned the news.

"C'mon, let's go up to the room," said Waylon, trudging Eddie toward the elevators. They rode in silence to the top floor and walked quietly to their room, neither speaking until the door _clicked_ softly behind them.

No sooner was the lock in place than Waylon deflated. A high pitched keening cry left his lips as he slowly sank onto the thin, floral patterned carpet.

"Darling?" Eddie followed Waylon to the floor, worry choking his heart. "Are you alright? Waylon?"

"No, I'm not alright," said Waylon, tears freefalling down his splotchy red cheeks. "I'm far from alright. I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't…I have no place here, anymore. If I ever did."

"What your father said, he was wrong, no one has a right to talk to you like that," said Eddie.

"He was wrong? About what?" asked Waylon, a loud sobbing laugh bubbling up. "He was wrong that I sell my body? I have sex on camera, he's not wrong. I'm embarrassed by some of my early stuff. At the time, I thought it was the only way to get ahead, to take any work that was thrust my way. I did anything and everything, thankfully under different names and personas, but it's there, I know it's there. I'm disgusting."

"You're not disgusting," said Eddie, brushing a blond curl away from Waylon's eyes. "You're beautiful. Inside and out."

Waylon paused, staring up with watery brown eyes. "I'm a mess."

"You did those things to help your mother, you did some great work, you have a right to be proud, some of what I saw…well…" Eddie dropped the statement, feeling suddenly hot around the collar. He tugged at his tie causing Waylon to give a thin laugh.

"You haven't seen the worst stuff."

"I don't care about any of that," said Eddie, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Waylon's salty lips. "I care about you, the person that you are. You're a good person."

Waylon frowned, and Eddie thought he would break down in more tears. He was prepared for tears. He wasn't prepared for the sudden feeling of limbs around his neck. A hot body pressed Eddie back against the door as Waylon's mouth found his neck.

"Darling…" Eddie barely managed the words, the feeling of a tongue sliding across his throat stealing his breath away.

"I need this, please," said Waylon, the words rushed. He kissed, licked, and nibbled, one moment gentle and sweet—the next feral and rough. Eddie sat passively through the display, unsure how to help Waylon, and not wanting to take advantage.

"Would you feel better if we talked about it?" asked Eddie, the question coming out too rough to sound completely innocent. "I'm always happy to listen to you."

"I don't need to talk," said Waylon, pulling away to rip his shirt open with enough force to send pearlescent buttons from his rented suit flying in all directions. "I need to fuck. I need you to help me." Waylon shrugged his shirt onto the floor and staggered clumsily up to his feet. "Help me?"

Waylon extended a hand and Eddie snatched it, though he didn't need the help standing up. His brow creased as he studied Waylon's face for some signs that this was a bad idea—that this was hurting him. "Are you sure?" asked Eddie.

"Please."

With a trained hand, Eddie removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt while walking to the bedroom. The king-sized bed dominated the room, the paisley pattern on the comforter clashing with the floral motif of the carpet. Details of the room faded away when Waylon slid out of his pants and underwear in one smooth motion. Or had he been wearing underwear at all?

Eddie fumbled with his belt, staring too hard at the naked flesh in front of him. The lean muscles and soft curves of Waylon, rummaging through his luggage. Eddie toed out of his shoes and dropped his pants and briefs. He was about to start on his sock garters when a thud caught his attention.

A bottle of clear liquid of some brand-name. Oh. _Oh_. Eddie's eyes canted up and met Waylon's. After the space of a couple heartbeats, Waylon quirked one eyebrow, keeping his expression hopeful. Eddie set his jaw and gave a slight nod that caused Waylon's breath to hitch.

Wearing only his black sock garters and dress socks, Eddie crawled onto the bed, savoring the way Waylon's pupils dilated as he stared. With one hand on either side of Waylon's body, Eddie crawled until their lips were connected once again.

Breath and heat. Soft mewling noises and the shuffle of fabric. Eddie used one hand to allow himself to explore the planes and curves of Waylon he usually touched in a rush. Eddie took his time feeling fevered skin, relishing the goosebumps that appeared under his fingertips as though summoned by magic.

Waylon's erection twitched and leaked onto his stomach. Eddie slid a finger into the mess and used it to trace glistening trails across the downy hair on Waylon's stomach. Each new swirl left Waylon gasping and writhing on his back, putting on a show better than any video.

Eddie hesitated when his hand caressed down Waylon's inner thigh and between his legs, fingertips grazing the edges of Waylon's wrinkled opening. He closed his eyes and stilled his hand. Movement from Waylon caused his eyes to open, only to watch in fascination as Waylon slowly lifted one knee, spreading his legs in the process.

A single finger lifted to Waylon's lips and he smacked his lips around the tip, bringing it away moist. The same finger then moved to lightly rub along the raised edges of Waylon's opening.

"I want you to touch me here," said Waylon, his finger circling his hole with excruciatingly slow swipes. "I want your cock to go in here." Waylon managed the very tip of his finger into his winking hole before moving his hand to instead grip his cheek and pull. "I want you to fuck me like this."

More erotic than any scene Waylon had ever shot. More intimate. Real.

Eddie grabbed the lube. He wet two fingers before using them to massage around Waylon's rim. Preparation was important, but his cock was already throbbing with impatience.

One finger slid in easily enough, and two followed. Any hesitancy was tossed aside when Waylon began grinding down on Eddie's hand, groaning.

"Yeah, hurry, spread me open," said Waylon, panting softly as Eddie pushed two fingers in and out.

"I don't want to hurt you," said Eddie, unable to keep his panting out of his voice.

"You can't hurt me," said Waylon, thrusting his hips with a pout. "And if you do somehow manage it, I promise I'll like it."

"Such an eager little slut, darling," said Eddie. The slur was out before he could stop it. Eddie bit his tongue so hard he feared it might draw blood. After everything Waylon had experienced, Eddie had to ruin everything by...

"A slut for you, Eddie, all for you, now hurry…"

Relief and desire flooded so quickly, Eddie rushed to shove his fingers back inside of Waylon, stroking hot insides with each stroke.

Unable to sit still, Waylon squirmed and moaned, as easy to read as a picture book. Eddie focused on Waylon's face while scissoring his fingers, withdrawing them with a wet squelch.

"Get inside of me," said Waylon, canting his hips up to keep his glistening hole centered in Eddie's line of sight.

"With pleasure."

Eddie stroked a lube coated hand up and down his cock, ignoring the pleasant heat from his own touch. A larger purpose was at hand. Eddie used his hand to guide himself, settling the head against the small pucker.

He hesitated a breath. Two. This was new territory. Territory Eddie had avoided his entire life. But in that moment?

"Please, Eddie, don't tease me," said Waylon, rocking his hips in a hypnotic undulating rhythm that caused Eddie's cock to slide up and down against his opening.

"A demanding whore tonight," said Eddie. On the next swipe, Eddie thrust forward.

Waylon cried out, fingernails digging into Eddie's shoulders. The cry from his lips was more wounded animal than porn star. Eddie sought out his lips, covering them with his own. He kissed Waylon even as his hips began a brutal piston motion.

"Oh God…" Waylon gasped for breath between kisses. His fingers reached up and tangled in Eddie's stripe of hair, ripping the strands from their usual tidy appearance. "Fuck me, I've wanted you to fuck me for so long…"

Eddie pulled back enough to pull on Waylon's thighs, tilting his back into a new position that allowed him to drop down harder, deeper, using his considerable size to plow Waylon into the mattress.

"You're so much better in person," said Eddie, grunting with each thrust. "So tight...so hot."

"You're the hot one," whined Waylon, grasping at Eddie's face, crunching his body up to kiss at Eddie's sweaty face and neck.

There was a push and give in their desperate movements. Waylon's ass rose to meet every punishing thrust and Eddie maintained his speed and force. He looked for any sign that Waylon might be sore or tiring, but there was only desperation and wild need.

Waylon reached down and grabbed his leaking cock, immediately rushing into quick jerking movements. Eddie grabbed Waylon's hand and then the other, pinning them firmly above his head.

"No," said Eddie, rolling his hips deeper into Waylon, "Like this. I want you to come on my cock."

Waylon's groan sounded pained, but his hips thrust off their own volition.

"I've seen you do it before…"

"Those were videos I was faking, I was…" Waylon's words failed when Eddie renewed his thrusts, driving deep and hard with every meeting of their bodies. He leaned down to kiss along Waylon's neck tasting the tang of sweat. Eddie licked and kissed his way up to Waylon's earlobe pausing to breathe hot against the shell of his ear.

"Fuck," said Waylon, hips jerking up as though shocked. "Please…"

"Come," said Eddie, directly into Waylon's ear.

Waylon came, screaming, mere seconds before Eddie proceeded to fill Waylon to overflowing.

* * *

"Sorry I freaked out," said Waylon.

There was no reason to pry. Not after what they had both just experienced together. Eddie lay on his back, with Waylon's head resting on his shoulder. They were both still covered in sweat and come, resting naked in their bed.

Eddie was content to let the statement float to the ceiling and away from their thoughts until Waylon pressed on.

"I shouldn't let that guy get to me, I know," said Waylon, a soft exhale filling the darkness of the warm hotel room. "He's the embarrassment. Too drunk to support his kids, not able to hold a good job, no insurance, forcing my mother to miss out on the latest medications and procedures…"

"Your mother's condition," started Eddie.

"Huntington's Disease, yeah. Fifteen to twenty-year life expectancy from when you first show symptoms. No one's sure when her symptoms started. The first sign is usually a change in mood and behavior, but she had an alcoholic husband, that type of thing tends to make anyone depressed and irritable. So who knows when it started, but it'll be over soon…"

"I'm so sorry, Waylon."

"Hey, that's life," said Waylon, shrugging.

"I hope you'll forgive me asking a personal question?" asked Eddie.

"A personal...Eddie, we're dating, and your come is currently leaking out of my asshole, yes, you can ask me a personal question, goddamn…"

"Well, um, yes, quite," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "Your father said something about you getting tested."

"Please tell me my bigot cousin Brad isn't still spreading that rumor about me having AIDS?"

"Er, well, maybe…"

"Maybe?!"

"I apologize, but I meant that your father had suggested that you get tested, and I had assumed he meant…"

"Ah, yeah, HD is genetic, so there's a fifty-fifty chance I inherited it from my mother," said Waylon, sighing. "She didn't know, she was adopted, limited medical history from the bitch that left her at a fire station. Go figure."

"So you haven't been tested?" asked Eddie.

"Nah, no need," said Waylon. "Lisa got tested, and she's negative."

"That's great news, but why does that mean you don't need to be tested?"

"Because it's fifty-fifty, and they have two kids, and Lisa doesn't have it, which just leaves me…"

"Waylon, that's not how statistics work…"

"Well, maybe I don't wanna know," said Waylon. "I've just assumed that I'll come down with the symptoms some day. So I put myself out there, grab whatever opportunity I have, don't have time for regrets when you're going to slowly lose your brain cells and die a vegetable in a home…"

"It's one thing to be fearless and another to be reckless…"

"I don't regret doing porn," said Waylon, hands flat on the bed beside him as he stared at the ceiling. "I'd do it all again. I made money to support Lisa, and to pay for better treatment for my mom."

"You're a selfless person," said Eddie, softly. "You have a kind heart."

"I also liked the sex though," said Waylon, pushing up on one elbow to stare at Eddie. "Don't try to make me out as some kinda victim. I liked the attention a lot, I liked the money even more, and I totally got off on exposing myself to strangers."

"That's…" Eddie scrunched up his face as he considered the best way to phrase it. "That's fine. You're allowed to enjoy yourself. It's wrong that we label porn actors as sluts and whores since as long as I've known you, you've shown yourself to be neither of those things."

"Yeah, well…" Waylon laid back with a thud. "You might be surprised how disgusting of a slut I can be."

"When I'm inside of you doesn't count, darling."

"Speaking of, you should get back inside of me," said Waylon.

"Another round? Really? Aren't you too sore?"

"What's wrong, can't get it up?" asked Waylon, smirking in the dark. Eddie scoffed and spluttered when Waylon's hand found his already re-awakening cock. "Ah, I see, not a problem for you."

"Well, we've been resting for quite some time…"

"Don't talk it down, this is for me, tell me," said Waylon, squeezing Eddie's cock until it twitched forcefully in his hand. "This is because I turn you on. Right?"

Eddie growled and rolled on top of Waylon.

Sex and bacon. The first two smells that registered in Waylon's sleep-addled mind caused him to sit up and gawk around the strange room.

Hotel. Breakfast. Eddie.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was early, but Eddie was already awake and dressed in slacks, vest, and a button-down shirt.

"You're dressed up," said Waylon, a yawn breaking off any additional thoughts.

"I thought it best to look sharp when meeting your mother," said Eddie. "Visiting hours begin in forty-five minutes. You may want to shower."

Showering meant Waylon would get clean, but also that he would remove the last traces of the night he'd almost thought would never happen. When Eddie's control had finally broken and he had pushed Waylon's knees up into his chest and pounded into his ass until Waylon saw stars.

"I don't think I can stand long enough to shower," said Waylon, half-joking but already feeling a twinge in his lower back.

"There's a bathtub, as well," said Eddie, smiling.

"You're in a good mood this morning," said Waylon, shuffling covers around as he reached for the breakfast tray.

"I had a rather spectacular night," said Eddie.

"Same," said Waylon, grabbing a greasy sausage with his hand and bringing it up to his mouth. He licked the tip, tasting burnt skin and salt before taking a vicious bite. Eddie yelped which only caused Waylon to giggle around his mouthful of meat. "Hopefully the first of many."

"What do you want from me, Waylon?" asked Eddie, sitting carefully at the end of the bed so as not to disrupt the food.

Waylon chewed noisily as his brow creased. He stared at Eddie and saw only calm curiosity. "What the hell kinda question is that?"

"An honest one," said Eddie, shrugging. "Last night was amazing, and I feel we are growing closer and closer, so maybe the time to hide behind contracts has passed."

"You want to tear up the contract? What and like, date for real?" asked Waylon, wiping his greasy mouth on the back of his hand.

Eddie tilted his head. "Perhaps. I am just growing more baffled about what it is you want from me."

"I don't want anything, I just wanna be with you, where is this coming from? Did I say something wrong last night? I was kinda in an emotional place..."

"No, you haven't done anything wrong," said Eddie, wringing his hands together. The first sign of humanity since the strange line of questioning began. "You claim you want to date me, and I believe I want to date you, too. But in my experience, everyone who wants to date me wants something more than just my companionship. So I wish to know what it is that you want so we might find this arrangement mutually agreeable."

"Eddie, people date because they like each other, not because they want something from each other, you're a grown-ass man, you don't need me to explain this to you," said Waylon.

"A quaint thought, darling, but I'm afraid that's not the truth," said Eddie, sighing. "Women have dated me for my connections, for my money, for my power, to boost their own self-esteem, to further their career…"

"Oh please, I'm sure most of them dated you just because they wanted to date you," said Waylon.

"Even relationships that claim that's the case, something is wanted from both parties. Cohabitation, support, both emotional and physical…Some of the women I dated claimed that, yes, but in the end, they wanted something," said Eddie, shrugging. "This was the reason for the contracts."

"I'm confused…"

"You're familiar with Pauline Glick, I assume."

"Yeah, I told you I like, memorized your sex tape…"

"Pauline was the last woman I dated who claimed to only want to date me for affection and companionship," said Eddie, shifting in his chair and canting his gaze to the floor. "My partners, they go to bed with The Executioner, larger than life violent super-hero, and wake up with Eddie Gluskin, damaged former-child star, and suddenly I lose much of my appeal. They would claim it was for love or companionship or sex, but in the end, everyone wanted me to introduce them to someone, or put in a good word with a producer, or buy them breast implants or new cars or fancy vacations…"

"That sucks, then," said Waylon, shrugging. "If they were using you."

Sometimes, it was so hard to know.

"Pauline recorded that tape, assuring me it was private between us, she had called it proof of our love," said Eddie, sighing. "I hit her when she threatened to release it to the public. It was subsequently released as part of our settlement to avoid a court issue. I handled it wrong, and I feel bad for that.

"I attempted to stop dating altogether, but the tabloids became insatiable, hounding my every move, constantly worried about whether I was making more sex tapes, abusing more women. So, I devised the contracts. Women get what they want that's in my power to give them, and I get someone to throw off the press and keep me company. Everyone wins."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that stuff with me."

"I can get you more work, mainstream jobs, I know casting directors and producers, I could guarantee you a role by the end of the year."

"Oh ye of little faith, I think Andrew's gonna be able to find me something, this thing has too much Oscar buzz not to get me at least a cameo as the gay friend in some sitcom. Have faith in me!"

"I could pay for acting coaches, wardrobe, state of the art press agents that can manage your image."

"That sounds like a nightmare, no thanks," said Waylon, grinning.

"You'll be famous, the romantic partner of Eddie Gluskin…"

"You sure are saying your name a lot, you enjoy talking about yourself in the third person?"

"I say it because it's not me, it's a name, it's a part that I play in public…"

"Yeah, but sometimes I see who you really are," said Waylon. He carefully slid the breakfast tray out of the way and walked on his knees to the end of the bed. "Like how kind you are to Roberta, and how fiercely loyal you are to your friends, including me…the way you treat me, like a peer and not some confused noob like I know you had to think of me…"

"You've come a long way…"

"Just, stop it, see! You're too nice to me. You play serial killers, but you're actually just a nice guy, and you're smart, and you're sexy, and you're kind, and I just want to be with you. I told you from the start, just being with you is enough."

Eddie sighed, staring up from the ground to meet Waylon's eyes. "And I'm starting to believe you."

Waylon smiled, a huge toothy thing. Eddie chuckled and shook his head.

"You're starting to grow on me, darling. Sometimes I think the stars aligned to bring you into my life," said Eddie, smiling. "Now, hurry, we need to visit your mother before our flight. We have work in the morning."

* * *

Next chapter: Eddie meets Miles. Not a drill, it's as bad as you're fearing. Thanks for sticking around, there's only 3 chapters left


	17. Chapter 17: Wrap Party

**Chapter 17: Wrap Party**

"Upshur."

"Hey, Miles, it's me," said Waylon, closing the sliding glass door behind him. He walked onto the patio near the pool and sat on one of the pristine turquoise recliners.

"Hey muffin," said Miles, making two quick kissy noises into the phone. "I miss you. How ya been? This a social call?"

"Kind of," said Waylon. The bright morning sun turned the windows into mirrors, but Waylon detected some movement behind the glass. "I'm calling to invite you to a party."

"Do I need to remind you what tends to happen when you plan parties?"

"I'm not planning this one, it's the wrap party, for the film," said Waylon, turning to stare out over the clear pool waters, a steady breeze painting ripples on the surface.

"Ah, so you want me to show up and take pictures."

"You're welcome to bring your camera, you're a photographer and it's an industry party, but listen, I'm inviting you as my friend." Waylon took a deep breath. "I want you to meet Eddie."

"I've met Eddie," said Miles.

"No, _really_ meet Eddie," said Waylon. "I want to introduce him to you as my boyfriend, and I need your help explaining our…relationship."

"Oh, sure, easy, nice to meet you Mr. Executioner, I'm Waylon's sugar-daddy, fuck buddy, friend, roommate, idol."

"You're not my idol," said Waylon, before amending, "And I wouldn't joke about that other stuff, either. Eddie has a jealous streak and he punched my dad at Lisa's wedding so…"

"He did not," said Miles, cackling over the phone. "Oh, please, I wish you'd brought me, I would die to see that."

"The whole thing was a disaster, Andrew had to take a redeye, drive all night, just to write a check my father tore up in his face." Waylon shook his head, staring at his own reflection in the window. "I got to visit mom."

"Yeah, and how'd that go?"

"About as expected," said Waylon, smiling at himself. "She looks worse, thinner, but the nurses assured me they're doing everything they can for her, and since I check in and send the money I believe them."

Waylon paused, holding the phone away to blow out a long breath. He had cried enough at his hospital visit to carry him for months. No need to cry again.

"I mean, that's all pretty expected, considering how far along her Huntington's is," said Miles, not unkindly.

"But, ya know what? Eddie was there, and somehow, it made everything better. I haven't felt that satisfied from talking to my mom in a long time. Even if she didn't respond, I kinda felt like, she got it, that I was happy, and that's more than enough…"

"You need a hug? You sound like you need a hug."

"Save it for the party," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. "I'll see you there?"

"Can't wait to meet your boyfriend, cookie."

* * *

Waylon's lips looked swollen. Kiss-bitten. His eyes dark; pupils blown.

Eddie cupped Waylon's face and pulled him in for another crushing kiss. The familiar and exciting feel of lips sliding together ignited every nerve.

The first kisses were calculated. Soft presses of lips, exaggerated head turns and grasping hands. But kissing Waylon was setting an open flame near gasoline. It was only a matter of time before Eddie got burned. When he leaned in for the next kiss, he pushed his fingers through thick, blond curls, pulling Waylon closer.

"Drop that camera arm," said Dennis. The skeleton crew on hand for the intimate scene held their places an unobtrusively as possible. Which was difficult when one of them held a boom close enough to catch every soft gasp and moan from Waylon's superb performance.

Eddie's hands slipped away from Waylon's head, wandering down his back instead. Waylon's wardrobe was a thin, clingy gray T-shirt over black briefs with thick white trim. Eddie's hands groped lower, fondling Waylon's ass, beautifully complimented by the briefs. Waylon jumped at a sudden squeeze, and his arms flew up around Eddie's neck.

"Okay, now Waylon's the problem, drop the fucking arms," said Dennis.

Waylon switched his arms, still gripping Eddie tight as they resumed kissing.

These movements were practiced at length the previous evening—alone in Eddie's bedroom. There was little to differentiate the evening's kisses that led to sex from the camera kisses they produced on set. There was nothing synthetic about the desire radiating from the two in front of the cameras.

"Okay, cut, let's move it to the bed, now, we have enough kissing," said Dennis, motioning to the crew, "I need the lighting different, I want backlit shadows in this next shot…just like that…"

The cameras ceased rolling, but Eddie leaned in and kissed Waylon's jaw. Waylon watched the crew, waiting patiently while also allowing Eddie to nuzzle against his jaw and steal kisses along his throat.

"The cameras aren't on," said Waylon, grinning. He stole a quick kiss and resumed waiting, patiently. The set was the same as other days, Felix's dingy apartment with its bare walls and sparse furniture. The bed featured heavily that day, unmade with dingy white sheets.

"I don't need cameras rolling to want to kiss you," said Eddie.

Waylon's returning smile lit up the dim set. "I'm happy when you kiss me."

"Good," said Eddie, capturing Waylon's lips again. The kiss was identical to the ones for the cameras before, hot breath and soft lips. Whispered promises of more to come.

"Alright, let's get the transition to the bed, ready with the lights, and…action."

Eddie grabbed Waylon's shoulders and easily overpowered him, pushing him into the rumpled bed on the set. Waylon landed hard enough to bounce twice with an adorable _oof_.

"Cut," said Dennis, sighing and dropping his forehead into his hands.

Eddie launched himself toward the bed, crawling onto the mattress with his hands and knees on either side of Waylon.

"I said cut."

The second cut finally manages to stop Eddie from crawling on top of Waylon. Eddie looks back at Dennis, his professional mask in place. "Something you'd like to see different?"

"Uh, yeah, something I'd like to see different, I'd like to see you stick with the goddamn script," said Dennis, rolling up the papers in his hand and slapping the roll into his palm as though threatening a misbehaving dog. "You made me cancel Vince, which means you better nail these scenes, and I need real, raw emotion from you, Eddie. And I need you to stick with the script. _Randall_ backs Felix up to the bed and pushing him down before straddling him. _Randall_ is the one leading this dance. Understood?"

Eddie forced a deep breath before giving a curt nod. He stood up from the bed, adjusting his plain white tank and flannel pajama pants. It wasn't like him to break character during filming—but maybe it wasn't out of character for Felix to want to throw Randall down on the bed and have his way. Maybe the script was wrong.

Waylon crawled off the bed and returned to his mark in front of Eddie. "Don't tell me you're getting flustered because of the cameras," said Waylon, grinning.

"I get flustered when you're around me, wearing next to nothing, with the beginnings of a promising erection visible in your underwear." Eddie leaned in to gently lick the soft skin beneath Waylon's ear, earning a soft sigh. "I don't mind the cameras being there, I mind being forced to stop."

"Alright, action," said Dennis, settling back into his cloth backed director's chair.

Waylon pressed his palm into Eddie's chest and pushed hard enough that Eddie knew to pretend to stumble backward. The bed met with the back of Eddie's knees, and he paused until Waylon took three quick steps and pushed again with both palms. Eddie fell backward onto the bed, arms flying out to help catch himself.

"Good," said Dennis. "Keep going." The blinding lights made Dennis invisible, though the presence of the crew was still felt in other ways.

Waylon walked to the edge of the bed and crawled on top of Eddie, legs straddling on either side. He smiled, enjoying the freedom to map out Eddie's chest definition beneath his tank. "You look so good."

Eddie growled in response, crunching his abdominals to raise up and meet Waylon in a quick kiss.

"Okay, camera three, backlighting in effect, let's get you two naked…"

It took three takes before Dennis was satisfied. Waylon removed his shirt slow, then fast. He ripped Eddie's shirt in his haste, and then pulled it away slowly, taking the time to nip at Eddie's chest in the process. Finally, Waylon's sat on top of a "naked" Eddie wearing only the black and white-trimmed briefs. Eddie wore the flesh colored modesty briefs provided to nude actors in these situations.

"Now, Waylon, I need you to move your hips, very exaggerated, let me see it…" Dennis' commands came like a disembodied voice from the light surrounding the set.

Waylon's hips rolled back, then forward, working up to a steady rhythm. The polite thing would have been for Waylon to rock his hips while holding himself slightly above Eddie, or maybe grinding into a cushion or the bed. Instead, Waylon lifted his hips and adjusted himself until his erection rubbed directly into Eddie's bulge.

"You're a sin," said Eddie, staring up at Waylon. Eddie lifted the hand away from the cameras toward Waylon's face but stopped short when Waylon turned his head and caught Eddie's finger in his mouth. Waylon sucked gently while grinding down on his hips.

"Looking good, more movement.."

Waylon's tongue slid against Eddie's finger as he ground his hips with larger movements, each drag causing Waylon's cock to press hard against Eddie's.

"Side shot looks great, too…"

Eddie pushed up on his elbows, struggling to breathe. The tiny set was suddenly too dark—too warm. With a swift pull, Eddie hooked his fingers into Waylon's briefs and pulled them down.

"Good initiative, but wait for directions…"

"I need to feel you," said Eddie, panted where only Waylon and the nearby microphone could hear.

Waylon leaned forward, pressing his warm, bare chest against Eddie's and meeting him in a kiss. Lips crushing. Tongues peeking.

"Hot," said Dennis, sounding bored. "Alright, cut, we need to reposition those sheets…"

Waylon sighed and continued kissing Eddie. Hands swept up to ruffle through Eddie's hair, holding him in place as they kissed.

Crew members approached the scene, bringing up sheets and changing the positions of the lighting equipment.

Eddie's hands slid down to knead Waylon's ass where he still straddled Eddie. The new positioned sheets hid their actions from the camera's prying eye. Waylon dropped his chin down to his chest, eyes closing as he sighed.

"I said cut, the cameras aren't rolling you two, you're wasting time," said Dennis.

"Then turn them back on," said Eddie. Waylon moaned softly, and Eddie rushed to sit up and nip at Waylon's flushed skin. Every soft noise was meant for him—not the cameras. It took effort to concentrate enough to remember not to leave actual marks. Loves bites were not in the script.

Dennis sighed and signaled the cameramen. Lights blinked to life on all of the cameras present, "Fine, action, make me believe it."

Eddie's hands grabbed Waylon's thighs and he used his superior strength to begin pulling and pushing on Waylon, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. The feeling sent Waylon's head flying back as he moaned, rocking his hips on top of Eddie.

The room was quiet, save the sound of fabric rubbing together, and soft panting noises.

One of the cameras panned around, and Eddie used the blindspot to snake a hand between the prop sheets and squeeze Waylon through his briefs.

"God, Eddie…"

"Cut," said Dennis. When neither ceased their movements he yelled again, "Cut! You can't call him Eddie…" Dennis groaned and grabbed for the clapperboard, "Are you two even pretending to be professional anymore?"

"You're always asking for something real, and raw," said Eddie, lifting up just enough to glare at Dennis. "What's going to set this film apart from any other imitators will be its authenticity. A real porn star, really going mainstream for the first time, experiencing the trials of a new actor, and experiencing a romance…a real romance. I know my directing portfolio is lacking, but I know enough to suggest you get this on camera."

"Fine, you got one take, Gluskin," said Dennis. If the lights weren't blinding, Eddie was sure he would see Dennis scowling. "Just keep em rolling until I say so…"

"Felix," said Waylon, voice breathy and raw. "Felix, Felix, Felix…"

The lights shone into Eddie's eyes and soon, he was transported There was only him and Waylon on the soundstage. They were the only two people in the room. No one else mattered. Least of all Dennis.

"Felix," said Waylon, panting the word. He leaned forward until he was kissing Eddie, hips still rocking in a lazy rhythm. "This is making me too hot." Waylon's words were quiet, not meant for the mics.

"Let them see," said Eddie, turning his head to nip at Waylon's chin. "Let everyone who comes to see this movie see how much we enjoy one another."

"Get me some close-ups," said Dennis, somewhere in the ambiguous space beyond the light halos. Might as well have been on another planet for the care Eddie gave it. His hand returned between the sheets and sought out Waylon's cock, dribbling constantly onto the thin sheets.

"But," Waylon broke to moan, thrusting down onto Eddie as a hand tightened around his cock. With a few more movements, Eddie pulled his own length from the modesty breaches and slid them together in a wide grip. "Oh, God."

"This is how I want you, every day," said Eddie, adjusting his grip and letting his head drop back on the mattress. "I want you like this, desperate and working for it…"

"Fuck," said Waylon, moaning as his hips took on a new jerking motion, fucking firmly into Eddie's grip. The slide of their cocks was assisted by the immense amount of precome dripping from both of them. Eddie moved his hand over the slippery heads, rubbing the lubricant into their skin, drawing slutty groans from Waylon.

"You look so good when you moan for me," said Eddie, hips thrusting off the mattress to meet Waylon's.

"But only you," said Waylon, moaning between every word. His movements are uneven and his voice raw. "From now on, I only want you. I don't…I don't want to share you, not even like this."

"Getting shy?" asked Eddie, smirking as his hands continued to jerk them off under the coverings, out of view. "I wouldn't have thought that of you."

"I can't help it," said Waylon, a loud whine escaping. "I want to be with you."

Eddie squeezes their cocks while reaching behind Waylon and using the sweat from their bodies to wet his finger as he toys lightly with the rim of Waylon's ass. "You're mine, you don't need to worry about that."

Waylon's hips stopped their graceful rolling movements and started into quick, dirty thrusts. The lyrical moans vanished, replaced with desperate grunting and growling. Waylon hunched over, palms flat on Eddie's chest as he worked his hips, fucking shamelessly into the tightness created by Eddie's fist and cock.

"I lo—" Waylon's body tensed and his eyes fluttered open for a moment, connecting with Eddie's. "I love you." He groaned and came into Eddie's hand while Eddie struggled to contain the mess in his hand and in the sheets without giving away to the crew what had happened. Waylon continued to hump uselessly, his body going visibly limp. "I love you…I love you so much I love…"

Eddie sat up, causing Waylon to slide backward slightly on his lap, and pushed their mouths together for a searing kiss. "No one fucks me like you do, Randy." The name is emphasized. No matter how real the scene felt, they were only acting while drawing on real-life experiences. Eddie had to remind himself.

"You make me crazy sometimes," said Waylon, a tired grin on his face.

Eddie grinned and pressed their foreheads together.

"Cut."

Eddie squinted against the lighting on set and blinked owlishly when the largest offenders were directed away from the mattress on set. The area seemed to chill immediately at the loss of the scalding lights. When the black dots dissipated, Eddie caught Dennis' dazed expression, and more than a few of the crew members sported flushed red faces.

"I, uh, " Dennis cleared his throat. "I think we got it. Let's get some body shots and call it a wrap."

* * *

Waylon stuck close to Eddie as they walked into the crowded ballroom of the famous Chateau Marmont Hotel. "This isn't exactly the party I'd envisioned as our wrap party," said Waylon.

"What kind of party do they have in your former profession?" asked Eddie.

"Oh, sure, usually did a few rails off some dude's cock, took a handful of penis enlargement pills, had unprotected sex with all of the film crew, and then went streaking in the quad…"

Eddie stopped walking to level a concerned stare.

"I'm joking, Eddie, we usually just went home, there was no big special wrap party for shooting a porn scene," said Waylon, laughing. "Sorry, I'm nervous."

"No reason to be nervous," said Eddie, smiling as he reached for Waylon's hand. "You're the star here, tonight. There will be industry people dying to meet you."

"That's kinda why I'm afraid," said Waylon, tittering to himself.

The discomfort only grew as Jeremy Blaire materialized in front of them wearing his usual black suit, no tie, and holding a dirty martini with olives floating on the bottom like flotsam.

"Ed. Park. Good to see you."

"Nice party, Jer," said Eddie, standing between Jeremy and Waylon and gesturing across the room. "I recognize a few powerful faces. I can't imagine these people are this interested in a movie about a porn star turned mainstream. How many favors did you have to call in?"

"Not nearly as many as you're imagining," said Jeremy, smirking. "There were actually more than a few producers happy just to show up and meet our new blood, here."

Jeremy tilted his glass toward Waylon, causing the olives to swirl hypnotically.

"Seems our little plan with you two paid off-there's already enough buzz about the movie that people who like to think they have their finger on the pulse of what's hot invited themselves to this shindig. Seems more than a few people are whispering about upcoming nominations."

"Amazing," said Eddie, shaking his head. "Awards? Really? You think?"

"Oh, I know," said Jeremy, still smirking. "I made it clear I don't care how low down the ladder we have to crawl, best original screenplay, best costumes for the strip club, I don't care, but they all assure me we're looking at the big ones. Best Actor." Jeremy used his free hand to tap Eddie on the shoulder. "We're gonna make it happen, Ed."

"Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," said Waylon, attempting to gain a foothold in the conversation.

"Don't rule yourself out just yet, you're part of the draw, too," said Jeremy, his leer becoming much more lecherous as he stared Waylon up and down. "I have a few friends that want a private audience with you. The penthouse here is beautiful, there's a large bathtub you simply have to see to believe."

"He will not be going to that," said Eddie, glaring hard at Jeremy.

"Relax, Ed, nothing's amiss here, it's a simple meet-and-greet, some of my biggest producer friends are interested in putting Waylon's very specific talents to use," said Jeremy. "Gritty is in. Marion's even talking about doing a remake of _Pretty Woman_ with a male prostitute instead of the original version. Sounds like Waylon's kind of gig."

"He doesn't want to be typecast," said Eddie, words biting. "Waylon is going to become a real actor, he's moving away from that adult film beginning, and the best move for his career won't be another role that involves explicit male nudity. You should be trying to fit him into something more mainstream."

"What's more mainstream than _Mainstream_?"

Eddie frowned, but Waylon grabbed his arm and tugged. "Hey, I see the guys! Let's go say hi."

Waylon walked away from Jeremy as quickly as possible, happy to have the foul stench of the man behind him.

"Classy party, Ed," said Chris as they approached. Chris looked like the world's fanciest bodyguard in a midnight blue suit and silver tie. Billy held a glass of water in both hands, eyes shifting around the room. He wore a light gray suit and white shirt.

"Lots of people here," said Billy, making meaningful eye contact with Eddie, "people I recognize…from work."

"I wanted to warn you," said Aiden, wearing a leather jacket over what appeared to be a tuxedo T-shirt, "your ex is here."

"Which one?" asked Eddie and Waylon, in sync.

"WAY!"

Helen's voice rose above the crowd as she skipped over to the small group. Her black dress fit her like a second skin, and her lipstick-red pumps were sky-high. She hugged Waylon, first, then threw her arms around Eddie's neck.

"Eddie-baby, I missed you! How are you two doing? I've kept up with the papers, you look cute as hell."

"It's going well," said Eddie, smiling one of his small, sincere smiles. The ones he saved for friends. "Waylon's messier than you, but he doesn't tote around quite as much of an entourage."

Helen laughed and the group joined in. She pulled Waylon's hand in the direction of the bar. "I need a drink, and I see you don't have one either," Helen fluttered her obviously fake lashes. "Can I borrow your boyfriend for a sec, Eddie-baby?"

"How can anyone say no to that?" asked Waylon, grinning as he flashed a look back to Eddie before following Helen.

"Oh my god, so, how are you? Everything okay? Eddie's a nice guy, right?" Helen talked a mile a minute as she glided toward the bar.

"Yes, yes, he's great," said Waylon, laughing as they navigated the crowded bar area. There were no seats available, but soon they were able to lean their elbows on empty real-estate. The busy bartenders acknowledged them and continue rushing about to complete other orders. "How 'bout you? How's the movie going?"

"We start filming in just a few weeks, I'm in rehearsals all day long, but I had to take a break to come here and support you two," said Helen. "Sorry to drag you away from the boys, but I had something important I wanted to tell you. Privately."

"What do you mean?" asked Waylon, leaning against the bar. "Uh, yes, we'll have two cosmos?" The male bartender was definitely at least a part-time model because he was that chiseled and handsome.

Helen waited until the bartender walked away to mix the drinks before leaning into Waylon. "So, I'm here with my producer for the _Bond_ movie. I went to the bathroom, and I don't think he knew I was back yet, but I heard him talking to Jeremy Blaire. The guy is basically working the room, promising people a close meet-and-greet with you, tonight, in some suite upstairs. He said he knows for a fact you'll want to showcase some skills. And from the way he was laughing, and everyone was nudging one another, I don't think they mean your acting chops."

"What a sleazy bastard," muttered Waylon. "He's in for a rude awakening since Eddie already told him to fuck off with that idea."

"I hope so, but I wanted to warn you," said Helen, smiling sweetly as the hunky bartender approached holding two of the fluffiest drinks Waylon had ever seen. Helen accepted them and nodded. "Put it on Granat." She pushed one of the drinks to Waylon and leaned in close. "Jeremy was also bragging that he'd already had you and that you and Eddie were only a relationship of convenience, 'good for business,' was how he said it."

"Well, he's wrong," said Waylon, shrugging before taking a long sip of the sweet cocktail.

Helen took a long sip of her own drink, humming in contentment. "I recognized a couple of the guys, I remember them from _Trager's_ restaurant back in the day, the Lambdo Studio a-holes. But I mean, even if they know about the contracts, there's no way Eddie would prove them right in front of that kind of a crowd. He's smarter than that."

"No, I mean, he's wrong," said Waylon, toying with a pineapple slice on the edge of the glass. "We're not pretend dating, I mean, we started with the contract, but we're…we're together. For real."

Helen's mouth fell open and she set her glass down on a tiny cocktail napkin. "Um, how do you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"How? Did Eddie tell you that your relationship was somehow outside of the contract?" asked Helen.

"No, I just know," said Waylon, shrugging.

Helen's face was concern and pity wrapped into one 'bless your heart' expression. "Waylon, I hate to break it, but Eddie's a great actor, he treats all of his contract holders with respect and…"

"No, I mean, we spend time together, at the house," said Waylon, causing Helen to stop short. "We hang out, we watch movies, he introduced me to the guys, took me to their hangout, met my family. Oh, and we fuck like bunnies."

"You fuck Eddie Gluskin?!"

"You didn't, I take it?" asked Waylon, sipping his drink to punctuate the sentence.

"I mean, I slept in bed with him, yes, all the time," said Helen, laughing. "He's so sweet in the morning."

"He's a cuddler," said Waylon, grinning.

"Oh my gosh yes," said Helen, laughing before taking a long sip. "It's so sweet. I feel like sometimes he just wants some human contact, and it was lonely while I was living there. Sure, I got to focus on my career, and he helped me so much with my surgery, acting classes, and scheduling my auditions. But yeah, sometimes I wished we were dating for real. But I knew we didn't have that chemistry. Maybe because he's gay."

"If the tabloids ask, he's pansexual," said Waylon, grinning. "Who'd of guessed?"

"Not I," said Helen, blowing air through her nose. "I was betting on asexual if anything. It's good to know he's finding some happiness. And I'm glad it's with you. You're a cool guy."

"Aw, thanks, Hel."

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Waylon Park," came a familiar voice, almost drowned out by the din around the bar.

Waylon turned and stared down the bar top until he spotted him.

"Miles!"

"Waylon!" Miles cried the name like a sinner screaming out for forgiveness during church. He pushed several people in his scramble to get closer. "Waylon, Waylon, you gotta help me." Miles grabbed the front of Waylon's shirt, his fingers bruised, bloody, and struggling to keep a grip.

"Miles?! What the fuck? Are you high?"

"You gotta help me," said Miles, panting like he'd just finished a marathon. "I'm not supposed to be in here, but I came to find you."

"What are you talking about? I put you on the guest list. You're allowed to be here, dude, what's wrong with you, you're freaking me out."

"They smashed my camera," said Miles, holding up his mangled hands, "while I was still holding it."

"What the hell," said Helen, recoiling from the sight. "Who smashed your camera?"

"His goons!"

"Whose?!" asked Waylon.

"Trager," said Miles. "I've been trying to tell you, this guy's had me followed since the story broke outing his secret room at the restaurant. They were waiting for me since my name was conveniently on the guest list, and when I checked-in, I found myself escorted to a back room where these two scary-ass twin bouncer assholes used a hammer on my fingers." Miles paused to gently cradle his hands against his chest. "I think some fingers are broken."

"Uh, ya think? Dude, that one looks like it's just sausage skin barely holding together a jumble of blood and bone shards."

"Uh, graphic," said Helen, taking two full steps back.

"Sorry, Hel," said Waylon, wrapping an arm around Miles' waist, "can you get security or something?"

"No!" Miles grabbed Waylon's shirt again, weaker than before. "No, no, no, Waylon, no, they'll kill me, please, let's just get out of here!"

"This is my wrap party," said Waylon.

"This is my life," said Miles, shaking Waylon by his silken shirt. "Please!"

Waylon frowned and opened his mouth to answer when suddenly strong hands appeared around Miles' throat. His feet lifted slightly off the ground.

"Get…your hands…away from...Waylon."

"No, wait, Eddie," Waylon put a comforting hand on Eddie's shoulder, "you gotta put him down, or he's gonna pop a boner."

"Too…late," Miles managed to squeak out before Eddie released him without warning. Miles' knees locked when he landed, and he crumbled to the ground of the fancy ballroom.

A small crowd gathered. Aiden, Billy, and Chris all wandered over, attempting to put their bulk between the onlookers and Waylon's strange group.

"You'd do best to keep your hands away from Waylon," said Eddie.

"Eddie, I'm sorry, but this is my friend," said Waylon, kneeling down to help Miles. "He's hurt. Some people here hurt him. Don't worry, I'm going to get him out of here. I should've known something like this would happen if I invited you…"

"You invited this person?" asked Eddie, face thoroughly creased.

"Yes, this is my best friend and roommate before you," said Waylon, sighing. "I wanted to introduce you two tonight. It's past due. Maybe you can come outside with us? I just need to get him into a car and to a hospital…"

"You can't leave now, we're key guests," said Eddie, expression scandalized. "Dennis hasn't given his speech yet, and we'll be expected to say a few words to the cast and crew. It's tradition."

"Well, this is life or death, man, who cares about some dumb fucking party," said Miles, pushing himself back up to his feet. Waylon wrapped an arm around Miles' shoulders and squeezed.

"Eddie, this is my best friend, Miles. Miles, this is Eddie."

"Pleased to meet you," Miles rasped out. He winced as Eddie took his damaged hand and squeezed. Miles whimpered when Eddie finally released his hand. "Jeez, nice grip, I feel sorry for your dick…" Miles swayed like a drunk and several people began to murmur behind their hands.

"Wait," said Eddie, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Miles. "I recognize you."

Miles smirked.

"Oh, wait, I recognize you, too," said Aiden, stepping forward. He pursed his lips and interlocked his fingers before shooting out two to point at Miles. "Aha! Dildo!"

Miles grinned and shrugged, his dire situation and injuries taking a backseat. "Guilty."

"Would you quit, I'm concentrating, that's not it," said Eddie, scowling.

"Yeah, man, that's it," said Chris, making an obvious show of looking Miles up and down, "you're the guy from the webcam videos with Waylon."

"I'm glad you're all familiar with my work," said Miles, holding a hand out to Chris. "Name's Miles. Miles Upshur. And none of that 'objects may appear larger than they are' nonsense, it's absolutely as big as it looks."

"Nevada," said Eddie, his voice quiet compared to Chris and Aiden chattering away at Miles. "That name…"

"Eddie, I have a lot to explain to you about Miles, but his hands are really messed up, so I need to get him out of here…"

"Do whatever you need," said Eddie, pushing his way through his friends and out through the crowd.

"Wait? Eddie!" Waylon lurched after Eddie, but Miles' weight kept him from following. "C'mon!"

"Nice meeting you guys," said Miles, winking.

"Hurry!" snapped Waylon. He jerked Miles forward, into some partygoers that screeched in dismay and held their drinks up to avoid spilling on their designer clothing.

"Would you hold up? I'm kinda woozy here, all the excitement and my hands are throbbing so…"

"Shut up, Miles," said Waylon, adjusting his grip lower on Miles' back to get a better handle.

"Watch out, cupcake, people are gonna think you're feeling me up," said Miles. A sprinkling of flashbulbs followed the comment.

Waylon stopped abruptly, and shrugged away from Miles, causing him to flinch as his hands flew out to stop a fall that never came.

"Hey, where's your compassion, dickhead, I'm hurt here…"

"No, you're fucking everything up…again. Like you always do, like you always…" Waylon clutched Miles side and walked through the crowd, ignoring all the stares and whispers.

"Excuse me," said Miles, standing up straighter. His face was pale and sweat beaded on his brow. "I've done nothing but help you since the day we met…"

"You've done nothing but help yourself, and use me, and order me around, and treat me like I don't fucking matter," said Waylon, scoffing. "I don't have time for you, right now."

"Oh, real classy, Waylon, use me to climb your way up, then drop me while I'm bruised and bleeding-that's who you are now? That's who you wanna be? One film and you're going to shit all over the friends that got you there."

Waylon stormed out of the crowded room. Tears blurred his vision, causing him to say, "Excuse me" to a particularly fancy potted plant decoration. He wiped his eyes as he jogged to the exit and followed the signs to the limousine parking lot.

"Eddie," screamed Waylon as soon as the door flew open. He recognized him immediately from his height and the fact that he waited near the valet station, one hand in his pocket and the other holding up his phone. Waylon ran over to him and grabbed Eddie's wrist. "Eddie, I need to talk to you, you need to listen to me, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my history with Miles but he and I aren't a couple, we haven't been for years, and he's sometimes not even that good of a friend, so…"

"Miles Upshur," said Eddie, reading from his phone. "He published an article calling me a washed up nobody weeks before publishing a story that I was fucking my costar. You. His roommate."

"I begged him not to run that, okay? I begged and pleaded—I even gave him the story about _Trager's_ …"

"Yes, he broke the story on _Trager's_ , but since then it's nothing but tabloid photographs, most of them of us. He was at our beach shoot. He was at our dinner dates. He was everywhere. Your roommate. Your…lover."

"Not my lover," said Waylon, shaking his head. "Not for a long time. Our relationship, it was complicated, but we haven't been a couple in years."

"When was the last time you fucked him?" asked Eddie.

Waylon's mouth flapped until he was saved by the most unlikely source.

"Trouble in paradise?" asked Jeremy Blaire.

"Get lost, Jer," said Eddie, scowling. "We're just having a conversation."

"Uh, no, actually, you two are making a scene," said Jeremy. He held up his empty martini glass to block his hand as he pointed not so secretly at a pair of women holding up iPhones. "You're making those amateur paparazzi cream their pants, but you two are supposed to be here to spread good news about this movie. The movie that's receiving so much hype, in part, because you two are dating. So how about you shelf whatever this is, and get back inside."

"I'm leaving," said Eddie, nodding as his black limousine pulled into the roundabout.

"Oh, the hell you are," said Jeremy, holding up a hand. "You're a professional, Ed. I don't know what Magic Mike here did here to ruffle your feathers, but I need you to get back in there and give a speech, okay? Don't let your fake relationship problems…"

"It's not fake," said Waylon, glaring at Jeremy. "I'm dating Eddie, we're together."

"Right, I know the byline, I'm in the circle of trust, whatever you wanna call it, but I'm still your producer making this movie and I need my main actors to cut their bullshit and go smile for the cameras. As is your job."

David stepped out of the limousine and stood by the door. Eddie met Waylon's eye.

"It's real," said Waylon.

"Well, that's not something I'd recommend," said Jeremy, addressing only Eddie. "I mean, I'd say 'you don't know where he's been,' but, you kinda know exactly. Sure, the sex is good, but he's got little else to offer, he's a nobody, one hit wonder, don't waste your time just because he swallows dick the way I've seen circus people swallow swords. I mean, just think of everyone who's been there before you. Including yours truly."

"You disgusting piece of shit," said Waylon, scoffing.

"You fucked _him_?" Eddie addressed only Waylon.

"No," said Waylon, jaw jutting out. "I didn't. I was pressured into some stuff, and…"

Eddie walked to the limousine, ignoring David, and opened the back door himself. Waylon ran to catch up, slamming his hands against the door. "No! Are you going to listen to me? Are you going to distrust me that much that you'd believe him over me? What happened there, it wasn't consensual, and none of it happened since we had our contract…"

"After you fucked my producer and sold me out to your reporter fuckbuddy to get ahead in this industry, you want me to believe you over my longtime producer?"

Eddie sat in the backseat and paused a split second before slamming the door shut.

David's look was pleading, but ultimately he walked back to the driver's side and got into the limousine without a word. Waylon watched, shoulders slouched as though the world had just crashed down on top of them.

"You didn't think Eddie Gluskin would really date someone like you, right?" asked Jeremy.

Waylon refused to let his tears fall. He glared at Jeremy. "You're wrong. About everything. But especially, you're wrong about me."

* * *

A/N: Thanks everyone who's been reading and reviewing on here, there are only 3 chapters left, we will sort this all out before the end :)


	18. Chapter 18: Long Shot

**Chapter 18: Long Shot**

Waylon sat in the waiting room. A fly landed on his hand, and he watched it walk in peace for several moments before launching back into flight. His eyes were the only things that moved when the nurse gave her reports. Time was meaningless as he sat in a miserable fog, remembering the look of disgust and betrayal in Eddie's ice blue eyes.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him from his meditation.

"Where the fuck have you been, creampie?"

Waylon turned his head a fraction of an inch and frowned.

Miles' hands are both bandaged with fingers held stationary by sturdy splints. He had changed back into the gray button down and black slacks from the previous evening.

"Oh, the silent treatment? It's three in the morning, you just missed your very first wrap party staying here, worrying about me, I know you wanna talk to me…"

"Do you have any idea how screwed I am, right now, because of you?" asked Waylon.

The severe tone made Miles perk up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you sitting there with two broken fingers in splints? Because I'm in this position because of you, ding dong."

"Oh, please, I gave you the information, you ran it at your own risk, and I wouldn't have even given you that lead if you hadn't been blackmailing me about Eddie."

"Blackmailing you?" asked Miles, putting his hands on his hips. The splints make the movement awkward. "I wanted to run a story about you dating Eddie Gluskin. If you'd let me run it that first time, I wouldn't be here right now." Miles shot the middle finger. Once again made awkward by the splints.

"You're good at that," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. "Not as good as you think, but you're good. Good at turning things around on me. Because it's my fault that you came to Nevada without being invited, photographed me without my permission, and threatened to make my relationship public when I wasn't ready. I deserved that, I suppose? Because I lived with you for so long, paying rent regularly…"

"Oh, please, you lived rent-free for the first year, unless you are counting the sex as payment, in which case…"

"I thought we were fucking dating, Miles," said Waylon, surprised when the words were choked out in his throat. God, he thought he was long over that. "I didn't pay rent because I thought we were a couple, and that you were supporting me as my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend, no one ever said that, why would you…wha…" Miles shook his head, as though the idea were an annoying rattle between his ears. "I wasn't your boyfriend, I was your boy, sure, your friend—definitely, but boyfriend…"

"I'm aware, you asshole," said Waylon, dabbing his eye to avoid any actual tears following to multiply his embarrassment. "I know that, now. But I didn't then. And I took so many fetish videos to pay you back, and you just let me. When I was beaten, torn, whipped, you only congratulated me on finally paying my share. I knew then you didn't love me…"

" _Love_ , now we're talking about love, that's not fair, I tell you all the time I love you…"

"You never loved me the way I loved you; we weren't dating, I was naive, but I'm done letting you take advantage of me. I don't care what you did for me in the past, right now, you just caused the man I love to hate me…"

"Oh, please," said Miles, smirking, of all things. "The part about me is a misunderstanding at worst, something to talk through and laugh about later. Fucking his pal? That's all you. And you say I'm the one who's good at blaming things on other people, pop tart. Nothing's ever poor little Waylon's fault. Mommy's sick, daddy drinks, that's why he's a porn star, not because he's an insatiable cockslut."

"Are your hands okay?" asked Waylon, words freezing in the air.

"What? Yeah, two broken fingers, they'll heal…"

"Good. Then, bye."

Waylon walked out of the visitor's area and back toward the only entrance of the hospital open for arrivals after usual hours.

"Are you serious? Come back! Don't you need a couch to crash on? I probably shouldn't be driving!"

Waylon didn't look back. "Call an Uber."

"Awww, c'mon cheese doodle, I'm sorry, that was out of line, you know I care about you...don't leave me! Please, let me help make it right."

* * *

Eddie stared at the paused screen. A shirtless Miles Upshur smirked down at a completely nude Waylon Park. Eddie pushed the screen so hard it tumble from his desk and crashed to the ground.

Destroying one computer won't stop the Internet. How many already knew that Eddie had finally been fooled, after a decade of carefully protecting himself? How many people were laughing at Eddie for shacking up with a manipulative porn star?

 _Ed, I covered for your speech, you owe me big time._

Jeremy's text caused bile to rise in Eddie's throat and sting his nose.

He glanced back through his memories and found them all tainted and twisted. Waylon sucking Jeremy's dick for a role in the movie. Waylon enlisting his friend to spy on them and break the story. Waylon forcing Eddie's hand in beginning their fake relationship. All the times Waylon had seemed so sincere and genuine now seemed tawdry. Fake.

Had the wedding trip been real at all? The tears with his dad?

Eddie paced in the office, then in the hallway, then he walked downstairs considering a five A.M. workout when a loud banging on the front door thwarted his thought process.

There was only one person who could have walked past security to the front door. One person who had a key to the side door and no reason to knock at all. Eddie glared as he walked to the front door and peered through the fancy, warped glass.

In the porch light, Waylon looked tired and pale. The faceted glass projected his image over and over until all Eddie saw was a kaleidoscope of pain.

"EDDIE!" Waylon pounded on the door again.

Eddie turned inward. If he could act every day for his entire childhood with the men who raped and abused him, he could face one angry con artist. Eddie opened the door as Waylon raised his fist, preparing to pound again.

"Eddie," said Waylon, sighing in relief. "Thank, God. Listen, we need to talk…"

"Come inside, please," said Eddie, holding the door open and stepping back as Waylon walked into the dark entrance area. The only light visible was a soft pantry light in the kitchen, and the glow from behind the living area blinds where the pool's lighting lit up the backyard.

"Look, I owe you an explanation, and I know you're pissed, but you gotta believe me, I invited Miles there that night because I was gonna explain it all to you."

Eddie motioned toward the living room and Waylon followed, his steps slow and weary. Waylon approached the couch and practically collapsed down onto the cushions. Eddie perched politely on the loveseat nearby and cocked his head to signify he was listening.

"When I found out my mom was sick and my dad wasn't supporting her, I borrowed a webcam from school and started my shows. My dad found out, obviously, and, well, the beating I got...I just left, but I had nowhere to go. I reached out to people I knew online. One of my regulars, I'd gotten close to him, and he offered me a couch.

"I didn't know Miles when I came to LA, but he let me crash with him, and we started a sexual relationship. He starred in my web videos, and he also worked as a freelance journalist. He made the best money on pictures of celebrities so that kinda became his calling.

"I thought we were dating, for almost a year, I assumed we were dating but when I brought it up to him he just laughed at me. He doesn't date people. And I was hurt, for a long time. And it's hard because our relationship lines were so blurred and strange. But Miles and I were never together, and what we did have together ended over a year ago. I promise you, I'm not with Miles Upshur…"

"You want to explain how he got all those intimate photographs?" asked Eddie.

Waylon sighed. "Yes, okay? That was me. When I was struggling to make it as a camboy, Miles helped me out with his connections in the porn industry. I tried to do him a solid back and allow him to take pictures of us when we were in public _trying_ to be photographed. Most of them were taken on our public dates, with my blessing. The ones he took without my permission, I yelled at him about those. But, that's Miles, he's just…"

"A jackass," said Eddie.

"Yes," said Waylon, nodding. "He's a terrible asshole, and I'm…beyond mad at him right now. But he isn't all bad. He's just hopelessly selfish and…"

"You need to cut people like that out of your life," said Eddie.

"Heh, maybe," said Waylon. He repositioned his feet and looked up into Eddie's eyes. "I'm not with Miles, and I didn't ask him to help me get closer to you. If anything, I begged him to stay away, so that I could get closer to you on my own."

Eddie's actor face hid everything. Waylon squinted and stared, but Eddie looked nothing but bored.

"Ask me whatever, talk to me, I just want us to work this out," said Waylon.

"This contract is important for our film and our careers," said Eddie, voice deceptively calm. "I'm willing to allow you to continue to live here, and abide by the rules of the contract, but any talk of a personal relationship ends—now."

"Why?" asked Waylon. "Why now, after everything?"

"Jeremy?" asked Eddie. Waylon flinched, as though the name were a knee to the groin. "I could forgive things from your past, I went into the contract knowing your previous profession, and past relationships are assumed—but Jeremy?"

"Really?" asked Waylon, his voice barely making a sound, having fled from the mere mention of Jeremy's name. "I figured you were pissed and jealous about Miles, but Jeremy? That…that wasn't my fault."

"It wasn't your fault, that you chose to sleep with Jeremy?"

"I never slept with Jeremy Blaire," said Waylon, lip curling. "He told me there were lots of actors in my position vying for the part, that they all wanted it really bad, and he'd gotten a good look at their skills. He asked me what would make me stand out from the others. Then he unzipped his pants and took out his dick"

Waylon stood up from the couch and began pacing in the living area in front of Eddie.

"I'm not an idiot, I knew what he wanted, and I assumed that's how things worked in Hollywood. I'd heard stories. Fuck, I'd acted in stories about the legendary casting couch. I fucked people for parts in porns. I fucked Jeremy to get a part in a movie. I didn't know any better, I didn't want to do it, but I wanted the part and he made it clear I either sucked his dick or walked out."

"So you could have walked out? And you chose to suck his dick, in hopes of getting a part…"

"Yeah, but…"

"Did Jeremy specify that you had to perform to get the job?" asked Eddie.

"It was heavily implied, his dick was out…"

"Did he hold a gun to your head?" asked Eddie.

"No? Is that a serious question, of course, he didn't, but…"

"So, really, Jeremy Blaire accepted a blowjob from you, that you freely gave in hopes of getting a part in one of his movies."

Waylon narrowed his eyes.

"You may stay here," said Eddie, gesturing up the stairs. "Everything is the same as before. Except our personal relationship is over."

Waylon shook his head and turned back to the door. He walked over and opened it before pausing to turn back and take in the same stoic look on Eddie's face. "I thought you were different. I thought you understood. But I guess I was wrong."

"If you're planning on going out and making a fool of yourself in your anger…"

"I'm not going out," said Waylon, scoffing. "I'm leaving. I'm not gonna stay here with you as some contract, knowing you think that about me. I'm out."

* * *

"You look like you watched someone run over your puppy, back up, and run it over again," said Aiden, pausing with a half-empty beer in hand.

Roberta had frowned when Eddie walked into the restaurant and straight into the back room to meet his friends. The three were already seated at their usual table, heads pressed close together as they talked in hushed voices. The whispers stopped when Eddie walked up.

"We heard about Jessica, sorry, Eddie," said Chris, pulling a piece of garlic bread out of the communal bread basket.

"It's difficult to get something before a judge when it's only he-said-she-said," said Billy, pausing with his spoon in his minestrone soup. "I know you were invested in Jessica's case, but that's not what's bothering you the most, is it, boss?"

Eddie regretted coming out. He ignored his friends as Roberta approached. "Darling, could I get a glass of pinot noir, and whatever entree you have on special for the day."

After years of serving Eddie, Roberta knew when to nod and hurry away without Small talk. Eddie inhaled deeply, staring around the table at his friends.

"You're torn up about Waylon, huh?" asked Aiden.

"It will pass," said Eddie.

"How can you say that about Waylon?" asked Chris, tearing into another piece of bread. "You two were so happy together. And I worked with him, too, you know? He's a good guy, Ed. He's good for you."

"He fucked my boss to get a job," said Eddie, frowning.

"You think he's the first?" asked Billy, looking up from his soup. "I've heard whispers. Never anything concrete, or you know I'd be bound by duty to investigate. But where there are whispers, there's often truth there. Just look at poor Jessica's case. I don't doubt for a second that what she said happened, happened, but without evidence, the man settles in mediation and we all have to pretend we don't think he's a rapist."

"I don't think Jeremy is a rapist," said Eddie, frowning. "A piece of shit, disgusting human being, yes, but a rapist?"

"You surprise me, Ed," said Chris, dropping the heel of the garlic bread just as Roberta arrived with Eddie's wine. She set it down on the table and quickly made her way out of the private area. "You surprise me that you're not on Waylon's side in all this."

"I'm not on Jeremy's side, if that's what you're implying, I want to shove a shank through the man's ribcage…"

"Your therapist would be extremely upset," said Billy, frowning.

"Okay, but I mean, Jeremy had all the power, Waylon probably felt like he had to do it to get the job."

"But he didn't _need_ to get the job," said Eddie, setting his jaw. "He didn't need to whore himself to get work. He could have kept working, he could have earned a job legitimately. He's a good enough actor-I've seen him work."

"Maybe," agreed Chis, nodding. "But he wouldn't have met you. He never would have gotten his big break. And we wouldn't be sitting here watching you break that wine glass in your hand."

The statement caused Eddie to glance down at where his wine glass was gripped so tightly in his white fist that he did worry it would shatter and ruin his white shirt. Eddie forced his fingers to relax, took the entire glass of wine like a shot, and set the glass down.

"Oh, hell yeah, it's that kinda night?" asked Aiden, before downing the last quarter of his beer.

"I'm not arguing that it's not a systemic problem for actors-or actresses, more likely," said Eddie, keeping his voice calm. "But there is some fault on the other party. If people like Waylon didn't offer to sleep with producers, producers wouldn't be put in a position that they had that kind of power."

"A producer always has power in this situation," said Billy. "After all you've been through in your life, you really feel like Waylon is to blame for giving into what a producer wanted? Do you think he enjoyed it? Has he ever been kind to Jeremy that you saw?"

Eddie tried to remember all the interactions with Jeremy and Waylon. How uncomfortable Waylon looked. How quick he was to drag Eddie away from Jeremy when they arrived at the wrap party. Eddie frowned.

"Coming out was a mistake," said Eddie, standing up.

"Don't be like that, Ed," said Chris.

"Yeah, stay, drink some more, tell us about how much you miss Waylon, and we'll give you a thousand reasons to call him up and apologize…"

"Apologize?" asked Eddie, as though the idea was foreign. Distasteful. "I don't think I have to apologize in this case."

Eddie reached into his pocket and retrieved enough bills to cover the meal and a tip, regardless of what the boys ended up ordering. He walked out of the restaurant without even a nod toward Roberta.

David leaned against the limousine chatting on his cell phone when Eddie approached.

"Ah, I'll have to let you go," said David, quickly rushing to cover up the mouthpiece. "I'll call you later, eh? Love you too." David disconnected the call and rushed to pocket the phone before jogging toward the back door of the limousine. "Something wrong, Mr. Gluskin?"

"Everything's wrong, David. I'm going home."

"So soon?"

"Immediately."

David held the door open and walked to his front seat, sliding down the partition as he started the vehicle.

"Did something happen, sir?"

Eddie sighed. He considered raiding the liquor cabinet, but there was nothing in there to quiet his emotions.

"My so-called 'friends' seem to favor Waylon in this ordeal," said Eddie, scoffing. "Apparently, a man who fucks my boss for a spot on a movie is a victim, instead of a vamp."

"Well, I wouldn't say he's automatically a victim. That would depend on some situational instances," said David.

Finally. Someone hadn't immediately jumped to Waylon's side.

"What type of situational instances?"

"Well, if the person has leverage over the other person, consent will always be an issue," said David.

"But if the person goes into the situation to seduce and manipulate?" shot back Eddie.

"Did Waylon do that?"

Eddie stopped short, staring at the window as the familiar streets passed with palm trees swaying in the unusually windy night.

"I don't know," said Eddie.

"Does it seem like something he habitually does?" asked David.

 _I'm not promiscuous, Waylon had said, with heat flashing in his eyes._

Eddie had believed him them. Why not this time?

 _What's the answer, for people like Randy? ..if he says 'no' then, he can't even be an actor, he won't have a choice, but if he says 'yes' he gets the job, but he hates himself and betrayed Felix and himself…_

"I need to make a call," said Eddie. He waited as David politely raised the partition before pulling out his cell phone and blind dialing the number. Eddie waited with baited breath until he heard the line pick up.

"Andrew," said Eddie into the phone. "I need to get out of town. Please tell me you have something coming your way that would take me as far away from Southern California as possible." Eddie smiled as his agent began to prattle on about business…sweet, comforting business. Eddie could always trust his professionalism to save him in times of great duress, and this time would be no different.

"Greece? Why, Greece sounds lovely this time of year…"

* * *

"Do you like Chocolate Chip or Rocky Road?" asked Helen.

"Which one's vanilla ice cream? I like chocolate, but not as the base ice cream so much," said Waylon, sniffing loudly.

"Well, you ate most of the Chocolate Chip, that one's vanilla, but Rocky Road is chocolate...ooh, there's some Neapolitan in the back, but who knows how long it's been there honestly I'm not supposed to eat ice cream but..."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," said Waylon, reaching past Helen into the freezer and pulling out the damaged box of ice cream. He opened the top and stared at a mess of freezer burn. "Ugh, well, maybe not that desperate."

"Whatever news you got today must have been serious business if you're pulling out the ice cream this late at night..."

"I'm sorry, Hel, you work so late and then you still come home and deal with my bullshit..."

"I'm happy to listen to you, Way-bae," said Helen, smiling. "Not like I have much going on. My entourage has moved on to hanging out with more fun celebrities now that right now I'm so busy. All work and no play make Helen a dull girl to pal around with."

"I think you're great," said Waylon, sighing. "No wonder Eddie was so keen on having you around."

"Well, yeah, I am pretty awesome," said Helen, grinning. "Pretty sure I was invited because I was very obvious about needing some help and needing _Shallow Tides_ to do well. That's why Eddie offered me the position. I was happy to accept. Especially when he mentioned the boob job."

"I shoulda got a boob job," said Waylon, grabbing his chest "Maybe then he would have fallen for me."

"Give him some time, I feel like he's going to come around," said Helen. She rummaged through the drawer and brought out two spoons. She wrinkled her nose at the old ice cream and pushed it out of the way, opening the Chocolate Chip, instead.

"You keep saying that," said Waylon, sighing. "You're a disgusting optimist aren't you?"

"No, I just...I mean, I learned a little about Eddie during our year together," said Helen, digging into the ice cream and bringing up a full spoon. "He doesn't get close like he got with you, he doesn't open up to anyone outside of his boy's club." Helen took a big bite, moaning into it.

"He thinks I'm a disgusting whore who slept my way to the top," said Waylon. "Those are his least favorite type of people. People who use him for stuff without being upfront."

"I can't believe that was the reason," said Helen, taking another bite. She talked around a full mouth. "I thought he just didn't like sex and wanted companionship. I thought he was lonely."

"Jeremy Blaire ruined this for me," said Waylon, sighing. He picked up the ice cream and his spoon and motioned with his head toward the double doors in Helen's condo. "Can we eat it out on the porch?"

"Sure," said Helen, following with her own spoon. Helen's apartment in the hills was posh, two stories, fully furnished and had a spacious balcony with a great view considering it was located on the third floor. "That horrible trek up three flights of stairs is worth the view. Plus my calves look great."

"God, they do," said Waylon, grinning around his spoon. They sat the ice cream down on the table that matched the lawn chairs sitting beneath a blue and white striped canvas umbrella.

"So, do I get to hear the news yet?" asked Helen, digging back into the ice cream.

"Yeah, found out I'm gonna see Eddie again, soon," said Waylon, nodding. "Dennis told me the editing is on schedule to have the first cut reviewed by Jeremy in just a couple weeks."

"Oh my God," said Helen, clapping her hands without losing the spoon, "Waylon, that's so exciting! It's only been a month and a half, and you're telling me they already have something!"

"It's rough, but apparently Eddie's the kind of star that likes to be there for those initial screenings..."

"Oh, hell yeah, he is," said Helen, laughing. "That's a nice way of saying he's the kind of star that has enough influence that he gets a say in every step of production. He was like that in our movie, too."

"If I can see him, again, I think I'm finally not angry anymore," said Waylon, tapping the spoon on his lips. "I'm definitely done with apologizing for something that wasn't my fault, though."

"Jeremy Blaire really is a monster to have made it seem like you two had a sexual relationship that was anything but one-sided..."

Somewhere, over the balcony, tinny music started to play. Waylon couldn't make out the melody over the distance. He squinted his eyes and stared over the railing, soon joined by Helen.

"Hey! Who's down there!" Helen called into the night.

No answer. Waylon struggled to comprehend the music over the normal night noises and the distance.

"I'll call security!" yelledHelen.

 _"Baby come back...any kind of fool could see...there was something, in everything about you..."_

"Eddie?" whispered Waylon. He grasped the railing tightly and stared down into the condo's parking lot three stories below. There was movement near one of the cars. A red Jeep.

 _"Baby come back...you can blame it all on me...I was wrong, and I just can't live without you..."_

"FUCK OFF MILES!"

"Oh, DON'T BE LIKE THAT!" Miles' voice carried from the parking lot. "WAS IT THE SONG?"

Miles fidgeted with his iPhone, then held it back up with the speakers pointed up toward the balcony.

 _"You're my honey bunch, sugar plum, pummy-yummy-yumkin, you're my sweetie pie..."_

"Oh my God, is that your ex?" asked Helen, laughing behind her spoon.

"No, Miles can't be my ex-he was never my boyfriend," said Waylon, sighing. "Just a friend. And a colossal idiot. I'm sorry, I should go down..."

"Invite him up," said Helen, grinning even larger. "I don't wanna miss this."

* * *

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to find you?! I've been looking for weeks!"

"Well, I've been staying with Helen."

"What have you been doing?" asked Miles, slipping into his reporter mode. "You're not working? I couldn't find anything if you are unless you jumped ship and stopped working with NaughtyBoy…"

"No gigs, no videos," said Waylon, shrugging. "I've been cleaning up for Helen while she's at work."

"He also rubs my feet when I get home," said Helen, grinning and wiggling her socked toes.

"Also I rub her feet," agreed Waylon.

"Well, I come bearing gifts," said Miles, reaching into his brown leather jacket and pulling out an envelope. He handed it over to Waylon and it sank heavy into his palm.

"Pictures?" asked Waylon, not surprised that Miles had pictures for him. That wasn't unusual. When Waylon opened the envelope and saw images of Eddie scowling at the Mediterranean landscape-that was unusual.

"Where'd you get these?" asked Waylon, staring in wonder, afraid to touch.

"I had to call in every favor in the world to get my hands on these, unpublished," said Miles, grabbing for the photographs. "I sunk a lot of my own cash into buying these. As a favor, for you. I'd heard a rumor and I needed to get to the bottom of it."

Miles pulled out more of the photographs and flipped through them quickly, finally pulling out a handful and shoving them in Waylon's face. "Bam."

"Bam, what?"

"BAM! Look at that face? Do you see that face? Does that look like the face of the man who just kicked somebody out of his life and doesn't care about it?"

"No, it looks like the face of a man who feels hatred and betrayal," said Waylon, snarling at the bitterness of his words.

"Listen, I brought you this, as a peace offering," said Miles, sitting on the edge of Helen's bright red sofa. "Because I'm gonna fight to make this right for you. But look, more importantly…" Miles inhaled deeply. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," said Waylon, grinning. "You're a selfish asshole you don't even know what you did wrong…"

"Lemme stop you," said Miles, holding up his hand. The previously broken fingers were no longer in splints, but they still look rather crooked on Miles' upraised hand.

"I've done a lot of thinking. And you're absolutely right. I have taken advantage of you since day one. I used you for sex because you were convenient, I used you for emotional support, I used you for my career, and I always justified it to myself that you didn't care, that you liked sex so it was okay, and I thought I was supporting you enough by paying some bills. I was wrong, man. And I'm damn lucky to have someone like you as a friend because all you do is care for those around you.

"So, I'm sorry, for not being a good friend to you, but don't take this as an empty apology, because I'm going to show you that I'm working on changing," said Miles, nodding. "Starting with this. I am going to grab Eddie Gluskin by his ignorant face and force him to see the truth in all this. But first, I hate to do it, but I gotta ask you for some stuff, on the record…"

"Oh, here it comes," said Helen, standing up. She tapped one socked toe on her tile floor as she glared down at Miles. "Waylon's told me all about you. You come in here, talking a big game, just to get some information out of Waylon to better yourself. What is this, for a story? Lemme guess it's just only fair that Waylon pays you back by helping your career…"

"You're right, this is for a story, but it's not what you're thinking," said Miles, pulling out his phone. "I just want to ask you, on the record, exactly what happened with Jeremy Blaire." Miles shook his phone for effort. "To add to my collection."

* * *

Eddie pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and lower face. His sunglasses were much too black for the dim airport. He made his way to an empty area of the terminal, blocked partially by "Pardon Our Dust" signs and orange cones. He was the only human sitting in the area. There was even an unused electrical socket he immediately used to charge his cell phone.

Sometimes the common areas were easier places to hide than the First Class Captain's Club. Unfortunately, one curious human could put prove the undoing of the entire plan.

"Eddie? Eddie Gluskin? Mr. Executioner is that you?!"

A man walked up with a bag straight out of an Army/Navy supply store wearing a red hoodie with the hood pulled up almost entirely around his face, and dark sunglasses.

Eddie groaned internally and started to stand up.

"I'm just fucking with you," said the man, removing his shades, and pushing back the hoodie to reveal a mop of unruly brown hair. "I know it's you. And I'm not here to bother you for a photograph."

The flash went off on Miles' cell phone.

"Then what was that?" growled Eddie.

"I said I wasn't going to bother you for a photograph, not that I wasn't going to take any, I need proof that I delivered this to you," said Miles, taking the seat directly beside Eddie in the waiting area. Their forearms rubbed together on the thin armrest.

"I'm not sure why I should listen to anything you have to say," said Eddie.

Miles held up his phone and angled it toward Eddie. The photograph showed Eddie, sitting in a limousine, with Waylon's head pushed into his lap.

"This…" Eddie tried to recall the scenery, his outfit, Waylon's outfit… "This didn't happen?"

"Waylon tripped, walking out of Trager's, and I got this delicious gem of a photograph. Do you have any idea how much I could have sold this for? It was before you two were official, it was before anyone even would have dreamed that you would seek a relationship with a man."

Eddie frowned and canted his eyes up to meet Miles'. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because I showed this picture to Waylon, and this was his response…" Miles switched around some screens until he was holding up a voice recording app and pressed play.

" _What could be juicier than Eddie Gluskin with a male pornstar's head in his crotch," asked Miles' voice._

"Trager's _."_

" _That was the restaurant's name, yes."_

" _I can give you a story, about Trager's," said Waylon's voice._

Miles hit pause on the file. "Waylon gave me the story on Trager's to keep me from running this photograph," said Miles, swapping around on his phone again.

"You think I care that he gave you the lead? Waylon's not responsible for what happened to you because of that lead," said Eddie, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, I know that, but I wanted you to hear him protecting you…" Miles's damaged finger hovered over the play button. "He gave up _Trager's_ at that first image, but when I caught you two fooling around in the trailer after that shoot?"

Miles pressed play.

" _Please, Miles, you can't do this, Eddie will never speak to me again if you…"_

" _No denial? You admit it? You're fucking Eddie Gluskin?! Wow! When was the first time? What's he like in the sack?"_

" _It's not like that," said Waylon, voice cracking over the recording. "Please, don't do this. You're my best friend, and I'll never have a chance to get close to Eddie if you do this. It was only the one time, shooting an intimate scene riled me up._

" _He was only trying to calm my nerves, as a mentor, because he's such a nice guy, but I don't know, maybe I could have a chance to know him better, but something like this would chase him away forever…"_

" _Your makeup woman sold you out, by the way. She's a source confirming you came back from the break with your voice rough and eye makeup streaming down your cheeks. Sounds hot."_

" _I'll give you another story," said Waylon. "I can start a fight, or get drunk in public, wave my dick at traffic, or whatever sensational, embarrassing thing you can imagine. Just, please, don't publish that story."_

When the recording stopped, Miles sat quietly holding his phone. Eddie looked around the terminal, focusing on anything but the man next to him. Finally, he sighed.

"You are the worst friend to him."

"I know," said Miles, sighing as well. "I'm trying to make it right. That's why I'm here. You need to know, he never sold you out for his career. And as for Jeremy Blaire? Well, if you still side with that asshole, then you don't deserve Waylon, anyways."

Miles stood up and reached into his brown leather jacket. He pulled out a glossy magazine and dropped it into Eddie's lap. "Hot off the presses."

Eddie stared down at the headline on the front of the magazine.

 _Producer. Predator. Pariah._

The picture was a black and white photograph of Jeremy Blair.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter, Eddie and Waylon finally meet back up, and there are 21 chapters now so almost done :) Thanks for your reviews and kind words 3


	19. Chapter 19: Private Screening

**Chapter 19: Private Screening**

"Mr. Park! Mr. Park! How do you feel about Jeremy Blaire's removal from the board at Murkoff?"

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," said Waylon, smiling.

"Won't this negatively affect your movie?" asked another reporter.

"You know what," said Waylon, pausing with two grocery bags in either hand. He stood outside of Helen's condo association and met the eyes of a herd of paparazzi with cameras upheld, "It better not. It better not affect it. That man abused his position-abused his actors. He wasn't the important part of this movie—not by a long shot.

"Dennis is a brilliant director, Eddie is a great actor, and I worked damn hard on this project. If the public rejects the movie now, it's like all that abuse was for nothing, they'll make it look like we really can't make a hit movie without an abusive producer like that asshat. _Mainstream_ isn't about Jeremy Blaire, _Mainstream_ is about beating the shit out of people like Jeremy Blaire. Go see _Mainstream_."

Waylon smiled for the cameras and turned toward the door.

"Mr. Park! Waylon! Waylon! What about rumors that you and Eddie Gluskin are broken up?"

"Rumors that we're broken…" Waylon paused, adjusting the grocery bags in his hands, "I'm obviously not staying with him right now. These bags are full of ice cream and wine, does that sound like a broken up person to you?"

The paparazzi and reporters all turned to look back and forth between themselves for a moment.

"Y-yes, yes it does," said a brave woman holding a giant camera with a telephoto lens.

"There ya go," said Waylon, walking into the lobby of the building.

Helen waited on the other side of a pillar, playing on her phone. "Why do you keep stopping to talk to them?"

"Because I need Eddie to see me everywhere, talking about him, missing him."

"You're nervous, huh?" asked Helen, grinning up from her phone. "It's adorable."

"It's not adorable…"

"Oh, come on, after what happened with Jeremy, and Miles said he handled the other part. Eddie would be an idiot not to grovel at your feet after all that."

"You'd think that," said Waylon, sighing. The plastic bags creaked in his hands as he walked to the elevators. "The problem is I _know_ Eddie. What's bothering him the most is feeling betrayed. Feeling like his pain benefited me, somehow. Feeling like I'm no better than the women that hurt him before. He's probably retreated back into himself, deciding that, whether I'm guilty of anything or not, he's better off without people in his life."

"Then he's an idiot," said Helen, forcing her slim phone into the impossibly tight back pockets of her jeans. "Anyone is lucky to have you, Way-bae."

She hugged him, swaying slightly causing the grocery bags to knock against their legs. The elevator _dinged_ a moment later.

"Now, come on. That wine ain't' gonna drink itself."

* * *

"This article is brutal," said Billy, holding the glossy _Time_ magazine as though afraid of smudging the pages. "I love it."

"Yeah, that Upshur guy is a colossal asshole, but he's a good writer, I'll give him that," said Aiden, staring down at his phone.

"He ain't bad to look at, either," said Chris, smirking at the raised eyebrows of his friends. "What? You guys saw his videos. Don't act like you weren't impressed."

"I'm not sure I can handle another of my friends falling for a porn star, the drama is headache inducing," said Aiden, staring back down at his phone. He wore a black suit with a white shirt and skinny black tie, looking like the long-lost Blues Brother. "Haven't you already read that article, Bill?"

Billy looked much more professional in his light gray suit with powder blue shirt and pink and blue striped tie. "I need to do my research if we're gonna be expanding our clientele."

"I wasn't sure you were on board with the idea," said Eddie, tying his own silver tie to complete his charcoal suit with blood-red shirt ensemble.

"Of course I'm on board, boss," said Billy, marking his place in the magazine and closing the pages. "I know we started this thing to help kids like us, but we have enough expertise within our walls now to help anyone with legal problems associated with sexual harassment. It's a good thing for us to include adult claims."

"Hope Agencies is still about the same thing," said Chris, smiling in his broad navy suit and silver shirt. "Helping people that are being taken advantage of by people with leverage over them."

"Our Children's Branch is still a huge priority," said Eddie, straightening his tie one last time before releasing it and staring at himself in the mirror in his living room.

"Of course it is, Ed," said Aiden, closing his phone and pocketing it in his suit. "But that doesn't mean you can't expand. It's a good thing. The public's gonna eat it up."

"I don't care what the public thinks," said Eddie, frowning. Or rather, he only cared what _one_ member of the public thought.

During his weeks shooting that terrible archaeological thriller in Greece, Eddie forced himself to avoid the news. He avoided reading anything that could potentially hold an article about what happened at the wrap party. He tolerated no gossip around the catering table. He made no friends on set.

But that was nothing new. He was a professional, after all.

There were so many thoughts to examine and file away before he was ready to face Waylon again. Assuming Waylon would allow him a chance to speak with him, after everything. Eddie half expected to receive nothing but a cold shoulder at the screening that evening.

"That face," said Aiden, interrupting Eddie's thoughts. "You're worrying. Quit worrying."

"How can I not worry?" asked Eddie, scowling.

"Don't tease him," said Billy, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Eddie's allowed to be nervous about seeing Waylon."

"You know what you're gonna say?" asked Chris.

"I was thinking of opening with, 'I'm sorry.'"

"There's a start," said Aiden, nodding.

"I don't know how you could have thought that of the guy in the first place," said Chris.

"What was I supposed to think?" asked Eddie. "When I first met Waylon, I assumed he was a porn actor who had _literally_ slept his way to the top. It's right there in his job description. I assumed he was interested in me for the same reason any other actor is interested-star power, wealth, connections. But Waylon assured me, repeatedly, that this wasn't the case. And his actions seemed to back all that up."

"Anyone could tell the guy was head over heels for you," said Aiden. "Just the way he looked at you when you guys were together."

"He's an actor, and even though he's untested, he's a good one. In his next film, he may make that exact same expression at another actor or actress, and will you think that he's in love with them as well?"

The boys all frowned, but no one remarked.

"It's difficult to trust actors, it's difficult to believe that a porn star doesn't want to sleep their way to the top, and it was difficult for me to believe that someone as young and kind as Waylon could legitimately be interested in someone as seasoned and bitter as myself.

"And then to find out, in one crushing night, that his ex-boyfriend..."

"Waylon said they never dated," said Billy.

"His ex-boyfriend, in all but name," Eddie amended with an eye roll, "was profiting from our relationship, and Waylon slept with my boss to get the part. That's all rather contradictory to what I had been led to believe-but it made me start to see him again as I had that first day. An opportunistic young kid trying to make it by whatever means necessary."

"That ain't Waylon, man," said Chris.

"I do believe that, now," said Eddie, nodding. "I believe that before meeting with Miles. Before seeing the backlash against Jeremy. I should have believed Waylon from the start. But, after tonight, I won't let him fight that battle alone. Hope Agencies is going to be there right beside him. Even if he wants nothing else to do with me, personally."

"I wouldn't blame him," said Aiden, shrugging. "He bared his heart to you, and you ran off on the first plane to Europe and iced him out for almost two months."

"It was work," said Eddie.

"Everyone knows you didn't care about that project," said Billy, not unkindly. "Just be honest with Waylon. He deserves to hear the truth from you."

"But first," said Eddie, adjusting the cuffs of his suit, "We have a movie to screen. Gentlemen?"

* * *

The private screening that evening was not the glitz and glamor of a premier. It was a small theater, with tight security wanding down all attendees to prevent leaks. Everyone in attendance was contracted to the movie, a select guest from the press, or a background-checked plus-one.

"How you doin'?" asked Aiden, smiling at one of the personal assistants Eddie recognized from filming. "Name's Aiden. I know what they say in the news about this guy," he thumbed at Eddie, "but I'm not really here with him, we're just completely platonic friends." Eddie rolled his eyes but kept quiet. "So, you here alone?"

"You're supposed to be my lookout," hissed Eddie, tugging at Aiden's jacket as discreetly as possible.

"I'm sure you'll be fine once you run into lover boy," said Aiden, disentangling himself from Eddie's attempts to keep him in place. He walked away toward a refreshment table with the assistant.

Eddie scanned the crowd and spotted a familiar bald head weaving through the crowd.

"Ed, good to see you, you're looking tan," said Dennis, easily abandoning whatever group he had been chatting with previously.

"My character spent a lot of time in the Mediterranean sun."

"Well, it suits you," said Dennis, shrugging. "Pretty inconvenient for us, considering we needed a few re-shoots."

"Andrew said you managed," said Eddie.

"We did," said Dennis, nodding. "Waylon came in and covered for you, we just changed a few scenes to being about Randall's reactions, instead of Felix. And it works better, I mean, considering the changing climate right now. Can you believe it? Jeremy Blaire?"

"Yes, I absolutely can believe it," said Eddie, frowning. "Waylon would never lie about something so serious."

"No, I mean, I definitely believe it with Waylon. Sounds like Waylon really felt pressured, and who can blame him? Not like Hollywood is banging down the porn studio doors begging for actors. He probably thought this was his one shot so he just did what he had to do.

"But I mean, all the others? Everyone coming out with their own versions? The domino effect this is having across every corner of the industry! You really think all of those accusers have a solid case? Surely, at least some of these are exaggerations if they didn't come forward until now…"

"No, Dennis, I think every accuser who felt violated and wronged by someone in power has a case, whether they spoke up about it or not. Our industry needs to build an environment where sexual predators are charged and brought to justice, and the pressure to perform acts in exchange for movie roles and support is abolished."

"Okay, sure, you're like, reciting the Hope Agencies tagline, whatever," said Dennis, scoffing. "You're telling me you don't think at least a few of these actresses are speaking up out of bitterness and anger? Maybe they just wanna bring down a guy who didn't cast them in something. I'm not famous enough to have any girls trying to sleep with me for a part, but now I'm really scared, man."

"Maybe try not doing anything unwanted, and not dating anyone you hold leverage over?"

"No, I mean, obviously, but what if, right?" asked Dennis.

Eddie had more to say on the subject, but he found his voice stolen away. Walking into the room was a vision in a light pink shirt and a lavender and gray striped tie. Waylon's hair was cropped shorter than Eddie remembered, framing his smiling face like a golden halo. The woman on his arm was no less familiar. Helen spotted Eddie first and lightly knocked her elbow into Waylon's without losing her smile.

Their eyes met. For the first time in months. The guileless excitement of the past was gone, replaced by a flash of sorrow and pain. That was Eddie's fault. He put that there. Eddie took a deep breath, said something to Dennis to excuse himself, and started through the crowd. He bumped into Aiden and his new friend, past Billy and Chris, enjoying the free refreshments, and finally stood before his two exes.

"Waylon."

"Eddie."

"Helen," said Helen. She glanced back and forth between the stare down and took the hint. "I'll be by the popcorn if you need me…"

Alone for the first time in months. Or as alone as two people can be while surrounded by a theater's worth of cast and crew. An unfamiliar coldness haunted Waylon's eyes. His cocksure attitude replaced with a nervous energy.

"I'm sorry," said Eddie.

Waylon tilted his head, as though attempting to translate Eddie's words into another language.

"I missed you," said Eddie.

Waylon smiled, but something wasn't right. The smile was too sad-too serious. "We need to talk," he said, pausing to lick his lips. "About a lot of things."

"Agreed," said Eddie. "Please, first, you have to let me…"

"Ladies and Gentleman! Thank you all for attending this screening of the film _Mainstream_. We are all so proud of everyone involved and the progress that's been made. The film is on schedule to be released by Murkoff Studios next month. There will be a short question-answer session with the director, Dennis Fuller, directly following the movie. But for now, if you would please follow me into the theater…"

"Notice whose name is being left out of all of this?" asked Waylon.

"Yes, and I'm so sorry, darling, there's so much…"

"Shh," said Waylon, sighing as he reached down to take Eddie's hand. "It's assigned seating. As the headliners, they saw fit to sit us together. There will be time to talk, later. But, for right now…wanna watch a movie, starring you? Just like old times?"

* * *

A doorbell rings.

 _Murkoff Studios Presents_

The black screen fades as a door opens, allowing a view into a room. A fat, bald man with yellow shades leans against the frame, blocking the view of what's happening beyond. A busty blonde woman bounces up and down, straddling a man whose face is out of frame. The sound of moans and creaking springs follows through the door.

 _Directed by_

 _Dennis Fuller_

"Yeah?" asks Yellow Shades.

"Uh, delivery, for um, Mike Hunt…"

"Felix!" screams the bald man over his shoulder, shutting the door slightly as he walks away, deeper into the room. Seconds later, Felix appears in the doorway wearing a tight black v-neck T-shirt and a gaudy gold chain.

 _Starring_

 _Eddie Gluskin_

Felix examines the package, frowning for a moment before his mouth opens and he gives a quiet 'ah.' Felix signs for the package and turns back toward the room where the blonde is still bouncing with all she's got.

 _Waylon Park_

"Hey Vic, new dildos are here!"

A weak cheer goes up around the room before someone screams, "QUIET ON THE SET."

 _Mainstream_

Felix walks the box of sex toys through a door with a nameplate: Felix Carter. He opens the door and pulls the chain on a single, swinging light bulb.

Inside, the room is more like a closet. An old grade school chair and desk combination taking up the majority of the room along with stacks of boxes overflowing with papers. Felix drops the box on the desk, pulls the chain again, and closes the door.

Felix traverses through tight hallways, brimming with people. Men and women in suits, some in costume, some completely nude. Felix nods his head to a few of them, and one naked man even claps him soundly on the shoulder. "Hey, Stu."

In a small room, a young brunette sits on a couch as Felix and the bald man from the beginning stare her down. "Listen, Satin, this ID is obviously fake, and we run a legit business here, we can't afford to have underage kids sneaking in. Now, you either get your real ID in here tomorrow, or you're recast. And if you aren't already eighteen, stop wasting our fucking time."

The girl rushes out of the room, hand over her face, as Felix slouches back onto the couch.

"That's the third one this week, Felix, the third fucking underage jailbait you bring in here…"

"I'm sorry, Hank, I've been advertising at the same places online, gah, at my age they all look young, I just take their paperwork, get the headshots, and bring it to you…"

"You need to fix your recruiting methods, then, and quit wasting my fucking time…"

"Yeah," says Felix, bobbing his head in agreement as Hank stands up.

A crowd of people sits in a circle pointed toward something off-screen. Moaning is audible. Felix sits in a cloth folding chair, reading a thick document.

"We're out of fucking lube again," comes a voice from off-screen.

"On it," says Felix, dog-earring the page in the document, and jumping out of the chair. He takes off at a jog.

Felix stops at a red light while a young boy stares up at him while holding his mother's hand. Felix gives a polite grin. The mother glances over with a smile until she notices the giant tub labeled "Personal Lubricant." The light changes and the woman shields her son's eyes and rushes across the street. Felix adjusts the tub on his hip and continues with a sigh.

"Where've you been?" barks a man with a long, skinny ponytail and tiny half-moon specs. "Harper's bitching about the script, again. You gotta get those writers back in here…"

"You want to argue with me about a script to a porno?" asks Felix, still grappling with the tub of lube. "Look, I gotta get this up to the sound room…"

"If the script is shit, Felix, then the scene turns to shit," says the bespectacled man. "I can't direct shit, I can't do it, I'll walk…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll talk to Hank…" Felix pushes into a room where a naked man is chained, spread eagle, to the back wall. "Lube," he announces.

A shrill scream rips from the man when a woman in black latex slaps a rod across his thighs.

"That's the spirit," mutters Felix, setting the tub down near some other supplies and boxes. He watches the scene for a moment with the rest of the crew in the room, when the faint sound of crying floats in from off-screen. Felix ducks into the hallway to investigate.

"You wanna be a star, doncha? Well, this is how you get to be a star," says a man in a tank top and black jeans.

"I'm not sure, I'm having some doubts, I didn't know it would be so rough," says a woman with long, straight black hair wearing a pink polka-dot bikini. There are tears in her eyes, framed by excessive fake lashes.

"How old are you? Twenty three? Honey, you're already a _milf_ by porn standards, your marketability is going down every second that you stand there breathing, and you wanna argue with me about the content? You came to me, I said I'd make you a star, but you gotta trust me…"

"I don't know," says the girl.

"Sure, sure, baby, c'mon, this is how you get started," continues Tank Top until he notices Felix watching in at the door, "Hey, Felix, tell Sindi here, spelled with an S and an I, that this is how the business works…"

* * *

Without thinking, during the small scene of the beginning, Eddie moved his hand slightly and set it over Waylon's, brushing their arms together on the shared armrest. The shudder was instant.

He hadn't planned to make any physical contact with Waylon. The act had come naturally, after spending time together watching movies for those months. It felt like coming home.

Waylon turned his head, examining Eddie's expression. Whatever he found made him smile—only barely.

The change in music brought Eddie's attention back to the screen.

The disgusting club from Nevada looks even worse on the screen. All the black furniture seems faded to a smokey gray, as though matching the odor of the place. Despite the layer of grime, Waylon manages to shine-and not just because of his metallic briefs.

Seeing Waylon wearing the familiar costume brought back a heavy dose of nostalgia. No wonder Eddie had fallen so completely for the man. Eddie had never gotten to watch him dancing except for their brief scene together.

Waylon's body wrapped around the pole as sinewy as a snake. His dance moves were fluid and alluring, his body tone and lithe, and his eyes. Well, Eddie always believed the majority of acting was accomplished with the eyes, and Waylon certainly personified that belief. His dark eyes were a promise of something deviant.

The image of Waylon upside down sliding down a pole would haunt Eddie's dreams worse than any of the porn videos he had watched.

"You look so good," said Eddie, leaning over to whisper near Waylon's ear. He didn't specify whether he meant in the show, or right then.

The silent theater managed to grow even quieter as the backroom scene commenced. Someone coughed and it sounded like a bullhorn. The first sex scene. Waylon and Eddie's sex scene. Would they have ever ended up together if not for that scene?

The camerawork shifted intentionally, becoming much more choppy. The quality closer resembled that of a sex tape instead of something polished for movie theaters. It fit the reality of the situation. The secret that Waylon had finished in his costume during the filming.

A finger brushed up against Eddie's and he once again looked down where his hand was still touching Waylon's on their shared armrest. He caught Waylon's eye and the intention held there. Yes, definitely _their_ scene.

Eddie leaned forward, determined to remain engaged with the movie. It was difficult with Waylon sitting so close. He wanted to tell someone to pause the movie to give him a minute to speak his mind, but he knew it was a useless thought. The runtime was only two hours. He could wait.

And the waiting wasn't difficult when the film showcased so much of Waylon's acting abilities. Eddie was stunned every time Waylon took the center stage. But he was even more stunned than when the next scene opened to a hauntingly familiar sight.

The props department had done a wonderful job. The office that Randall walked into could have been any producer's officer Eddie had visited in the last decade. Except one particular nicknack made the hairs on the back of Eddie's neck stand up. A gilded statue in the shape of an old-fashioned movie camera.

Eddie half expected to see Jeremy seated behind the desk, instead of Chris.

* * *

"Hi," said Randall, walking stiff-legged and nervous. "Randall Barton, nice to meet you, Mr. Flannigan"

"Oh, come now," says the large man behind the desk. "We're gonna be close friends, I can tell, so you can just call me Rock. It cool if I call you Randy?"

Randall balks slightly, hand on the back of a chair. "Well, that's my stage name, I guess it might work as my porn name as well, though I'd prefer if you called me by my real name since I want to keep my personal and professional life as separate as possible…"

"Randy," says Rock, testing out the name. "Yeah, Randy's a perfect porn name. You're gonna shine with that kinda name, kid."

Randall starts to frown, then forces a bigger, brighter smile. "Sure thing, Rock."

"Perfect, now, I'm gonna level with you, Randy," says Rock, standing up from behind the large, plywood desk with its outdated computer and stacks of papers and folders. "You're not the first guy in here this week. Hell, you're not even the last guy I scheduled for _today_. A few of them, they had some real potential, and some of them don't stand a chance, but I give them all a shot, ya know? And you?"

Rock reaches out and takes Randall's chin between two fingers, turning his face one way, and then the other before releasing him.

"See, you, now? You got a face that _might_ work, but it's hard to know just based on a face, hell, it's hard to know based on those glossy photographs your piece-of-shit manager provided," says Rock, gesturing back toward his desk.

"Now, I only brought you in here because I feel bad for Felix. He and I, we go way back, thick as thieves, and I know he's fallen on hard times recently what with his wife walking out and having trouble keeping clients in what's ultimately a misguided attempt to become a manager."

"I think Felix is a great manager," says Randall, raising his chin.

"Yeah, but you don't know shit, do ya, kid?" asks Rock, chuckling in his cheap suit. "Nah, you don't know anything about this industry. Starting with the basics. Getting hired. Now, tell me, are you willing to do whatever it takes to get a regular spot on our cast? Or are you gonna walk out of here a loser, and go back to your loser manager, and keep shaking your ass at the seediest strip club in town to lure in johns to the back room? Hmm?"

Randall bites his lip and stares away. The camera focuses on the golden statue for a moment. A statue in the shape of an old-fashioned movie camera.

"You wanna be a star, right, Randy? That's why you're here?"

Randall nods, gnawing fully on his bottom lip while still staring away.

"So you're gonna be a good boy right now, aren't you, Randy?"

Randall meets Rock's eyes and gives a sultry smile. "Of course, Rock. I know how to act."

"I don't care how you act, I care how you fuck," says Rock.

"I know how to fuck," says Randall.

"We'll see about that," says Rock, grabbing Randall by the back of the neck.

The shots are framed where Waylon's face takes up the majority of the screen, though Chris' hands are visible. It's clear to see that he's being rough, pulling clothing out of the way, grabbing Wayon roughly on the back of the neck, and forcing his face down against the desk.

The dialogue fades to the background and the slapping sound is barely heard on the audio track as the camera zooms in on Waylon's face, staring away with tears in his eyes that eventually fall down his flushed cheeks.

 _"You like that don't you?"_

 _"Uh huh."_

Movement beside him caught Eddie's attention. Waylon shifted in his seat to wipe furiously on his face as tears fell. Eddie reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief which he offered to Waylon.

When the scene finally changed, Eddie recognized it immediately. He remembered the day. He remembered the darkness and the dead look on Waylon's face. He had assumed that he was tired from shooting all day, but Chris' scene had followed directly before. Eddie had even run into Chris before shooting the scene.

Dennis had chosen the first cut, the cut when Waylon had gone careening off script and shocked Eddie with his ability to improvise such an emotional speech.

But he hadn't been improvising-not really. Waylon had been speaking from personal experience.

" _I didn't want it," said Waylon, as Randall, shaking his curls. "But it was for the part, for us, for my future, and it seemed so easy to do because who cares, right? Not the first time I've used my body to get something, fuck, I'm disgusting, and worthless, a piece of shit…"_

"Excuse me," said Waylon, standing up and pushing past the entire row of patrons at the movie screening. Several people uttered curses or grumbled as Waylon obscured their view of the film during the intense scene.

Eddie stood up and muttered his own apologies as he followed Waylon into the lobby of the private theater.

"Do you mind if my husband and I ask you a few questions about Jeremy Blaire?" asked a woman in a black pantsuit with her light brown hair pulled into a ponytail. A man with black hair and glasses stood nearby holding a video camera.

"I'm sorry, now's not a good time," said Waylon, waving off the two reporters and pushing toward the front doors. Eddie chased after him, rushing through the still swinging door.

Waylon stood outside the theater in the dark, the neon lights from the theater's sign reflecting in his curls and turning his tears into colorful streaks.

"Waylon..."

"I just want to be alone."

Eddie stopped, frozen immediately by the command. "As you wish," said Eddie. He took a large step back, but he didn't leave.

A stoplight changed and a steady stream of cars zoomed by in the night, filling the silence with the sound of motors and wind. By the time the light changed back to red, Waylon took a deep breath and turned to face Eddie, wiping his face in the progress.

"You hurt me so bad, you know."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you're sorry now that the court of public opinion is on my side."

"No, I've been sorry from the moment I drove away from that party."

"You could have contacted me," said Waylon, sniffing and wiping his nose on his pink shirt sleeve.

"I'm sorry," said Eddie. "I've spent too long thinking I'd never find someone who wanted to be with me for me, that when I found someone, I couldn't believe you didn't want something from me. I jumped at the thought that you maybe had manipulated me in some way. I'm sorry I blamed it on...that man. I've known for a while now that something happened to you. How could I not, when you were acting scenes like that."

Waylon sniffed loudly, tears springing back into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, and I'm going to fight to make this right," said Eddie, taking a small step closer. "Hope Agencies are adding staff, I'm increasing the grant money to allow for adults to come forward, as well. I want my people to represent you, and make sure that he pays for what he's done to you and countless others."

"That's...that's really nice of you, but Eddie, these last months you've treated me..."

"All I can do is apologize, and tell you that I'll do everything in my power to fix our relationship, no contracts, only us, together. I want you to move back into my house, my bedroom, my life. Be with me. Let me make up for running away."

"You're sure?" asked Waylon. "Because if I say yes, and I come back, and you remember in a week or a month that I'm a filthy porn star, or that one time I slept with your ex-boss, I can't handle you throwing me out again, I'll never forgive myself if you hurt me twice, or run away to Greece without discussing it with me..."

"Do you want a new contract?"

"What's with you and contracts, it's weird."

"I'm sorry, it's always worked in the past...I just don't know how else to assure you I won't exclude you from important decisions, and I find you to be the most beautiful person, inside and out, and I only want to be with you from now on."

"Eddie..."

Waylon wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck and kissed him.

* * *

Next chapter: The climactic conclusion! Thanks for reading!


	20. Chapter 20: Awards

The alarm beeped near Waylon's face.

Eddie snarled in his sleep.

There was something about the alarm. Waylon reached for his phone to shut it off. Surely, it could wait.

Except then Eddie's phone rang on the nightstand, humming across the surface as it vibrated. Eddie's eyes opened with another loud growl. He groaned as he grabbed his phone.

"Tell whoever it is to fuck off," muttered Waylon, turning over and tucking into Eddie's side. "I'm ready for a repeat of last night…"

"Darling, you're insatiable," muttered Eddie, holding his phone in front of his face and staring at the screen for several seconds before accepting the call.

"The fuck do you want this early…"

Waylon reached for his own phone, leaving Eddie to his phone call. The voice on the line was unmistakably Andrew.

The alarm. Andrew. Puzzle pieces fell into place.

"It's TODAY!"

Eddie frowned as he stared at the bedspread, ignoring Waylon's outburst.

"You're joking," said Eddie, into the phone.

Waylon unlocked his phone with urgency, rushing to bring up Google.

 _Oscar Nominations_ , he typed. On the second time, he even typed it correctly.

The day had finally arrived.

Mainstream opened just inside the cutoff for being considered for the upcoming Academy Awards. The film continued to earn accolades and gleaming reviews. There were more than a few rumors swirling that the film would be considered for at least one category—if not several.

The critics praised Eddie's range in the movie. The fans cheered that their hero had finally returned to a real movie role that showcased exactly how passionate Eddie could be on screen.

There was little surprise when Waylon brought up the website and scrolled down to the nominees for Best Actor.

Eddie Gluskin for _Mainstream_.

Waylon squealed. It was an unbecoming noise he hadn't realized he could make, but he made it, loud and terrifying. Waylon launched himself at Eddie next to him in the bed. Eddie barely reacted.

"Eddie! You made it! You got nominated! Oh my god, you're going to fucking win! Eddie, can you believe it? Holy shit, finally, another nomination, and this time you're a shoe-in, you're going to win, it's going to happen, baby, oh my god. I'm so happy for you!"

"I'll call you back," said Eddie, ending the call. He turned, slowly, his face pale and slightly clammy despite the cool room.

"I thought you'd react a lot differently to finding out you got nominated," said Waylon, grinning. "You look ill."

"Where are you getting this information, darling?" asked Eddie.

 _Oh shit._ Waylon quickly brought his phone back up and double-checked, afraid he had clicked on some parody news site. Had they been making fun of Eddie? " _The_ _Hollywood Reporter_ , no, this is legit…"

Further down the nominee's list continued, and there it sat.

Waylon Park for _Mainstream_.

"No," said Waylon.

"Yes," said Eddie, a shy smile creeping onto his face.

"It's…it's impossible, it's my first movie."

"It would hardly be the first time a debut actor won the prize," said Eddie.

" _Won_ , shit, no way," says Waylon, shaking his head so violently his disheveled curls whipped into his eyes, "there's no way I can compete with you."

"You never know which way the Academy will go—and I can't imagine our producers care, considering either way is a win for the film."

"But Eddie, I believe in you, one hundred percent," said Waylon, smiling. "This is your time."

"You're not…not jealous? That we're competing?"

"Not at all," said Waylon. "We're on the same team, and I want you happy as much as you want me to be happy."

Eddie's brow furrowed.

"Aw, c'mon, don't tell _you_ feel jealous of _me_?" asked Waylon.

"I don't," Eddie said, sighing. "But that's strange, for me."

"To not feel jealous?"

"Yes," said Eddie, the covers rustling as he slid out of Waylon's grasp and sat up straight in bed, resting his back against the thick, wooden headboard. "It's difficult for me. To not feel jealous. Maybe that seems strange since so many people envy my own success, but I've always felt jealous. Insecure."

"When I caught you watching my videos, you were jealous, weren't you?" asked Waylon, moving back on the bed to sit up straight next to Eddie.

"Of course," said Eddie, sliding a hand across to take Waylon's where it lay over the covers. "Why do you think I was watching one of your solo videos that time? I couldn't stand the sight of you with a partner."

"Well, I suppose a little bit of jealousy can be sexy, I mean, not like it's threatening our relationship and…"

"But it has," said Eddie, squeezing Waylon's hand. "When I found out about Jeremy, I was…I was ignorant and jealous. I've thought about it long and hard. No one knows better than me the ways this industry can abuse talent. I suffered my own abuse as a child, while my parents allowed it. I see others abused every day working with Hope. If you hadn't performed for Jeremy, you never would have gotten hired. It's not right. I know you didn't want to behave that way—you didn't choose to perform for him. He chose it. And it's wrong.

"But I was still jealous," said Eddie, shaking his head. "Jealous because Jeremy Blaire, someone I saw as an equal and a rival of success, had put some claim on you before me. This wasn't some faceless porn colleague, this was Jer. And it clouded my views, made me want to see his side, made me question my loyalties, and it was all because of my cheap, disgusting…"

"Hey, you've apologized a thousand times," said Waylon, bringing Eddie's hand up and kissing the back of his knuckles. "You don't need to keep beating yourself up over it. I'm working on my shit—the therapists with Hope Agencies are the best."

"I don't want to feel jealous anymore," said Eddie, "and I want you to be safe and happy."

"Dude, this is a really heavy conversation for this early in the morning," said Waylon, grinning.

"I apologize," said Eddie, cheeks flushing slightly. "I suppose we really should be getting out of bed…"

"It's an amazing morning, already," said Waylon, laughter bubbling up before he cold stop it. "We're both Academy Award Nominees, and we're a power couple, and we should be celebrating! We should go out, or call some people, or at least…"

"Darling, you know I have to keep to my regiment, the script is very clear, Sergeant Shaw is in fighting shape, my trainer will be here at nine, I need to get down to the gym…"

"I have a better idea," said Waylon, kicking the covers away in a smooth motion and revealing his bareness underneath. "Wanna bench me?"

* * *

"Wasn't there some better reporter available?" asked Helen, clacking along beside Waylon in platform sandals. Her ensemble of the day was gleaming white pants with a petal pink blouse, large hoop earrings, and her blonde hair back in a silky ponytail.

Waylon plodded beside her in skinny jeans and a maroon top, torn in several places. He ruffled his curls as he searched the outdoor seating looking for a familiar face.

"Over here, cookie-dough," said Miles, walking up behind Helen from the sidewalk outside the agreed upon bistro. He wore his usual leather jacket despite the warm weather.

"I thought we were running late," said Waylon.

"Sorry, I was walking here, and I saw this chick, I swear, she looked just like Katy Perry, walking her dog, and she didn't clean up after it. But then she yelled at me for taking pictures and turns out—wasn't Katy Perry at all. Just some nobody."

"So you were taking pictures of some random dog shitting on a sidewalk?" asked Helen.

"Anyways," said Miles, walking up to an empty table with a 'Reserved' sign posted. He sank into one of the chairs and waited for Waylon and Helen to choose two of the other three. "Should we get all this 'on the record' shit out of the way, first?"

"Are you capable of having a normal conversation with me before we get to that part?" asked Waylon.

"Probably not," said Miles, biting his lower lip. "Ugh, I'm sorry, I know we've been talking about this—about taking your feelings into account more—but I have the perfect questions, I've been writing them in my head all day and well, I paused when that dog…"

"Please, no more about the dog," said Helen, waving down a waiter.

"Just ask me," said Waylon, fighting a smile.

"Okay," said Miles, fishing into his leather jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone, fidgeted for a half second, then pointed the screen toward Waylon to prove he was recording. "Alright, could you please state your name for the record."

"Waylon Park, Miles, you know we, can't we skip this part…"

"Due diligence," said Miles, clearing his throat. "Waylon Park, how do you feel about Jeremy Blaire's continued insistence that the sex was consensual?"

"Miles, you know the answer to that."

"I do," said Miles, staring down at the recorder on the table, "but when you told me your feelings about all this, it was between friends, not on the record. Like we talked about, I'm not gonna publish stuff you didn't want me to publish anymore, and I'm not taking any chances. If you didn't tell me 'on the record,' it's not going in any printed format."

"Thank you," said Waylon, reaching out to slide his hand over Miles' where he held the phone aloft.

"Yeah, well, answer the question, cupcake…"

"Sure, well, Jeremy Blaire used his power in the industry to coerce people, like me, into sex. The fact that these people agreed to the situation and allowed it to happen without fighting, doesn't make the act any less deplorable. People like Jeremy Blaire are a stigma on Hollywood that needs to be washed clean in order to make this industry safe for new talent and old professionals, alike.

"As for the reason he insists on his innocence," said Waylon, shrugging his shoulders, "that's because he's a disgusting abuser who can't see anything he does as wrong due to his overblown narcissism."

"Were you happy when you learned that the Academy evicted Jeremy Blaire's membership?" asked Miles.

"Nothing about Jeremy Blaire makes me happy," said Waylon, shrugging. "Even when he's behind bars and penniless it won't make up for all the pain he caused so many people."

"Did we really come here to talk about this asshole?" asked Helen, passing out menus to the other men. "I mean, I thought you were going to want to ask about, you know, the nominations or something?

"I was getting to it," muttered Miles, sparing a glare for Helen. "How are you dealing with the fact that you re competing against your boyfriend for the title of Best Actor?"

"I feel," Waylon frowned, gnawing at his lower lip, "nervous."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah, I mean, not really, since there's no way in hell that I would win, right? Eddie's going to get the prize, there's no doubt in my mind, but I do have this fear that something might go wrong and I'll receive the award for him for some…for some dumb reason…"

"Dumb reason?" asked Helen, scoffing over the top of her menu. "You mean like acting your heart out? Bringing your real-life tale to life through drama, and moving millions of people to tears, and moving thousands of others to take action against their own abusers by defending yourself against Blaire?"

"That's…that's not what's happening here," said Waylon.

"That's exactly what's happening," said Miles, leaning his elbows on the table. "And, for the record, I'm proud of you. You're stronger than you know—and more deserving than you allow yourself to believe. I'm pulling for you to win."

Waylon blinked as a fat tear fell onto the menu in front of him.

"Aww, don't cry, creampuff," said Miles.

"How can I not cry, you never say nice things to me…"

"I told you I'm working on it," said Miles, laughing as he turned off the recording on his phone. "I'm here for you. I'm here for all of it, the whole, respecting your boundaries thing, the like, not calling you demeaning things in front of strangers, I just, never saw it all that way- and I was wrong. You deserve a better friend."

"I don't know, I think I have, like, the best friends ever…"

* * *

"You guys act like it's set in stone, that one of them is going to win," said Chris, digging into a plate of bread set out at the restaurant.

"Everyone's talking about _Mainstream_ , of course, it's going to win, it has to be one of them," said Aiden, gesturing with his beer in hand causing the liquid to slosh.

"Sometimes having too much buzz can be detrimental to a film's chances," said Eddie, frowning down at his interlocked hands.

The boys met for lunch rather than dinner that day. The daylight streaming through the windows was disorienting.

"No offense, boss, but I believe the Oscar is guaranteed to Waylon," said Billy, rifling through a pile of files in front of him on the table.

"I agree with Billy," said Eddie.

"Well, no offense to Waylon, and it's a shame he's working so much and couldn't make it here today," said Aiden, pausing to sip his beer, "because I would tell him to his face that he did a stellar, just, amazing performance, but Eddie, my man, it's been too long since Hollywood recognized your talents..."

"The character of Randy was a more complicated character, and Waylon nailed it," said Billy, flipping his attention between his phone and his papers.

"Felix was the heart of the show," said Aiden, scoffing. "I mean, it opens on him, it ends on him, the entire movie is about his character arc from a sleazy porn talent scout to a legit mainstream agent..."

"Are you insane?" asked Chris, taking yet another piece of bread. "The movie is obviously about Randall and his character growth from a porn star to a mainstream actor..."

"It's about both," said Eddie, squinting at his friends through the harsh midday light. "I dislike meeting for lunch."

"Well, you have interviews all evening or I would have met them," said Billy, frowning across the table.

"How sure are you that Waylon's going to win?" asked Aiden, setting down his now empty beer glass. "Enough to put some cash down on it?"

"Absolutely," said Billy, dropping the file in his hand and rustling into his jeans pocket for his wallet. "Wanna say fifty?"

"Make it one hundred," said Aiden, pulling his own money clip out of his pocket.

"Would you two stop it," said Chris, chuckling. "You both don't have enough money to lose on a dumb bet like that."

"Dumb bet, what, you want in on this action?" asked Aiden.

"No, thanks, but I would say my guess is that the Best Actor category is going to Cooper for that show about the abused prisoner during the Vietnam War. Though, I think _Mainstream_ will definitely take Best Picture."

"I agree with Billy that Waylon will take home the prize for Best Actor, but I doubt _Mainstream_ will see anything as prestigious as Best Picture," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "Underneath it all, it's still a film about the porn industry, and that's never been a favorite of the Academy."

Billy and Aiden leaned together, pooling their cash and discussing the details of their bet.

"And if he does win?" asked Chris, interlacing his fingers and cracking his knuckles, "you gonna be okay with that?"

"I think so," said Eddie, smiling. "I genuinely want him happy."

"But what about your happiness?" asked Chris, not unkindly. "That Academy Award is the whole reason you took this part, and you've been wanting it for so long."

"I think I've wanted Waylon for longer," said Eddie, chuckling. "I needed someone like him in my life, and I didn't even know it."

"Okay, so, the reason I called you guys here," said Billy, straightening the papers in front of him, "was that I wanted to share the great news."

"Billy-boy is finally dating someone?" asked Aiden, smirking.

"I might be officially dating someone soon," said Chris, grinning.

"Would you two be serious?" snapped Eddie.

"Okay," said Billy, smiling. "I got information today, and I haven't gone through all of it, but as we're the supporting counsel on the Jeremy Blaire defendant's case, I was given some information about the case. And guys, you gotta listen to this..." Billy clicked around on his phone for a moment, "it's being released to the public, but I wanted you guys to hear it first."

The recording started abruptly, the voices muffled, though one was clearly a woman and the other a man.

"Just come back to my office..." said the man, and Eddie recognized the voice. Jeremy Blaire.

"I don't want to come back to your office," said the woman. Her voice wasn't well known and carried an accent Eddie couldn't place.

'Come back to my office, so we can discuss this issue in private..."

"I don't want to go back to your office because last time I went back to your office you tried to touch my breast and..."

"Look, you can come back to the office, or you can walk away from this project, you're replaceable."

"Why did you grab my breast?"

"Come back to my office."

"I told you yesterday that I did not want you to grab my breast and still you were trying to and you were told no but..."

"Listen to me, I have an entire afternoon booked with women that enjoy some attention, that like to play along, and do what it takes to get a part. If that's not you-if you don't know your place, then you can walk out, and don't call me again-I certainly won't call you."

"Are you saying I have to have sexual relations with you to secure a spot in your movie?"

"I'm saying you come back to my fucking office or you get the fuck off the lot, I'm calling security."

"But..."

"Excuse me, now you're just wasting my fucking time..."

"But, Mr. Blaire..."

"Unless the next words are that you wanna come back to my office, we're through..."

The recording ended abruptly, and Eddie glared at the phone.

"Disgusting," said Chris.

"What a piece of shit," said Aiden.

"Still," said Eddie, sighing. "He never explicitly said anything completely damning. He invited her back to the office, he never said she had to, he never said she had to have sex, there's too much there that could be disputed in court..."

"It gets worse," said Billy, starting another recording on his phone.

"What about Claire?" asked a man's voice on the phone.

"What about Claire? I don't wanna hear that name again," said Jeremy Blaire, voice clearly identifiable on the speakers.

"I thought we were considering her for the role of Sarah Douglas?" asked the other man.

"Not anymore," said Jeremy, snickering on the recording, "dumb cunt wouldn't go back to my office."

"What do you mean, she wouldn't sign onto the film?"

"No, she wouldn't go back to my office. If you know what I mean. These girls, and some guys, I mean, they'll do anything for a role. They're the ones that get the role. As long as we keep rewarding the ones that are willing to put out, they'll continue to have to put out. That's how this works, that's how we need to make this work. So no, don't say the name Claire to me anymore. She didn't know her place."

The recording stopped and Eddie realized his hands were shaking. He quickly shoved them into his lap.

"I can't believe Waylon had to...had to deal with that asshole..."

"I think this is enough," said Billy, a grim smile on his face. "I think we'll get a sentencing from this evidence."

"Then we can start working through Hope Agencies to find the rest of these assholes," said Chris, holding his water up in a salute. "You two are doing good work."

"With this evidence, and the testimony of so many people, he'll at the very least see an end to his Hollywood career, and with the number of lawsuits we are filing against him..."

"Hit 'em in the wallet," said Aiden, nodding. "That's sometimes the only place these assholes feel anything."

"I'd say, no matter who wins the Oscar in a couple weeks, as long as Jeremy Blaire goes down, we're all winners."

* * *

Waylon's leg bounced next to Eddie's, causing the entire limousine to jiggle.

"Darling, would you please relax?" asked Eddie.

Relax. Relax. Sure. Because Waylon wasn't on his way to his first Academy Awards where he was a nominee for Best Actor or anything.

"How are you so calm? You look like you go to the Oscars every day."

"I do go there, once a year, as a past nominee and working actor…"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up, this is my first time, and I'm nervous," said Waylon, biting his lower lip. Great. He sounded like one of his videos from the _NaughteeBoy_ days.

"You don't need to be nervous," said Eddie, leaning in to put an arm around Waylon's shoulders. "You look dashing in your suit."

Waylon adjusted his tie for the hundredth time that evening. He'd chosen a bright blue suit with a metallic silver tie, and Eddie had gone with a classic black suit and black silk tie.

"Dashing" Waylon laughed, leaning his head to rest on Eddie's shoulder. "Dashing makes me sound like a reindeer."

"Dapper?"

"What the hell is with you and these words…"

"You look debonair? Svelte? Handsome?"

"I wanna look sexy," said Waylon, craning his neck to look at the side of Eddie's face. "I wanna look hot. Not Devon-air."

"Debonair, darling, it's…never mind," said Eddie, shifting to turn to look at Waylon without removing his arm from around his shoulder. "You look sexy. Delicious. I want to rip that suit off of you and throw you down on the floorboard of this limousine."

Waylon squirmed in his seat.

"I want to open you up until you're begging for my cock, and then I would give it to you—give it all to you, filling you up, making sure you spent the entire eight hours of this boring awards show twisting in your seat from how sore I would leave you."

"Eddie," breathed Waylon, grasping the lapels of Eddie's suit and using them to pull him down for a searing kiss. Waylon sighed into the kiss as Eddie allowed it, putting forward no resistance when Waylon's tongue traced his lips.

The kiss parted for air, and Eddie smiled. "Feel better now?"

"Almost," said Waylon, leaning in for another kiss. Eddie's movements were controlled and warm, but Waylon wanted him out of control—and much warmer. He released Eddie's lapels and instead trailed his hands down Eddie's chest, taking in the muscles beneath Eddie's dress shirt and black silk tie.

"You need to behave," said Eddie, the words spoken directly against Waylon's lips and punctuated with heavy breathing.

"You really wanna do those things to me, Eddie?" asked Waylon, jerking his chin toward the front of the limousine where David drove behind the partition. "You wanna fuck me right here in the limo before we get to the show?"

"No, darling it was a thing to say to make you feel sexy and wanted," said Eddie, sighing against Waylon's cheek. "We can't have sex in the limo, we're wearing Armani suits and the photographers will be waiting as soon as we…"

Waylon kissed Eddie, again. He started at the mouth but quickly pulled away to drag his lips lazily over Eddie's freshly shaved cheeks, his stern chin, and then down his neck while pulling at his black tie.

"Waylon…" Eddie's growl was meant as a warning, but fuck if it didn't fuel Waylon further.

"I want you to fuck me, Eddie," said Waylon, sliding down from the limousine bench and down to his knees on the floorboard. The gentle hum of the wheels on the road beneath him was a distant vibration. "I want you to make me yours, so I know when you're up there making your speech, winning your award, I know that you're thinking of me, spread and cumming hard in the limo…"

Waylon's fingers easily located the zipper expertly hidden and sewn into the front of Eddie's suit and pulled it down. He shoved his hand inside of the opening and found Eddie's cock, hard and twitching through silken boxers. Waylon maneuvered until Eddie's free of the boxers, guided his cock through the zipper hole, then sat back on his heels to enjoy the view.

Eddie's face was flushed, his eyes sharp, and not a single hair displaced in his undercut. He stared down at Waylon, crouched on the limousine floor. His black suit fit like a dream, and his thick cock revealed through the zipper opening was obscene perfection.

Waylon licked his lips before leaning forward and teasing the lightest brush of his tongue along the underside of Eddie's cock. He opened his mouth and took in just the tip, sucking gently and laving the sensitive skin.

"We shouldn't do this before the awards," said Eddie, eyes never leaving Waylon's mouth. "We'll be arriving shortly, and besides, I fucked you hard in the shower this morning…"

"Are you saying you can't go again, old man?" asked Waylon, challenge flashing in his grin before he placed a wet kiss on the tip of Eddie's dick.

Eddie growled and shoved his hips forward, cock sliding against Waylon's mouth and cheek. Waylon grinned as he nuzzled against Eddie's shaft, kissing and breathing warm air against him before grabbing the base with a tight fist.

"That's what I thought," said Waylon before working his mouth down on Eddie.

Practice made taking Eddie easier—but he was always a challenge. The thick pressure against the back of Waylon's throat, the tight stretch of his lips, and the heavy weight against his tongue. Waylon put everything into sliding his mouth up and down.

A sudden bump rattled the limousine and Waylon's concentration broke for a second while his teeth grazed along Eddie's cock, eliciting a sharp inhale. Waylon pulled off with a loud pop.

"Sorry!"

"Dammit David," said Eddie, triggering the partition to begin lowering between the driver's area and the back cabin.

"There's some debris here, not sure what happened, but we're almost…"

"For the love of god, David, keep the partition up," said Eddie, putting his hands on the back of Waylon's head as though that could somehow hide what was happening. David's eyes had already gone wide in the rearview mirror.

The partition quickly squeaked back into the upright position.

"You better be prepared to finish what you started before we get to the awards…" Eddie's hand found the back of Waylon's had, and pushed down.

Waylon leaned forward, slowly, allowing Eddie's cock to sink into the back of his throat. An insistent push kept him from pulling back, instead pressing forward. Deeper. Firm pressure. Finally, a pop gives way as Eddie breached Waylon's throat before finally releasing his head.

Gasping, Waylon pulled back, drool running down his face. Eddie quickly swiped away the saliva, smirking with pink flushed cheeks. "You mustn't make a mess, darling. We have to look presentable." Eddie pushed again and Waylon obeyed.

With renewed motivation, Waylon took Eddie into his mouth—his throat. He pushed past his limit until his nose is buried against Eddie's suit pants and his tongue swirling through the wiry hairs at the root of Eddie's cock.

Eddie's deep groan was Waylon's favorite reward. "You're a filthy slut, darling. You love sucking cock so much that you need it, even at a time like this?"

Waylon's moan was a sob, a desperate sound, before being muffled once as he struggled to take Eddie deeper than before. Eddie's thighs tensed beneath Waylon's fingers and he heard the rustling in the cabinet near the drinks near his shoulder. He pulled away to watch Eddie digging for their emergency stash of condoms and lube kept in the limousine for when they are traveling.

Waylon smirked. "I knew keeping that in here would come in handy one day…"

"Turn around," said Eddie, his cock bobbing wet and hard in front of Waylon's face. Waylon frowned before leaving a last stripe on the swaying member.

"Sure you don't want me to suck you off?" asked Waylon. "That could make us both happy."

"I want you to feel me when you're up in front of all those people, giving a speech…"

"You know I didn't come up with a speech," said Waylon, whimpering softly as he turned away from Eddie and put his hands on the edge of the limousine bench that ran lengthwise up the cabin. "There's no need since you're going to win."

Eddie responded by reaching around and undoing Waylon's black belt, button, zipper, and rucking his pants down to his knees.

"In a hurry?" asked Waylon, completely breathless.

"We'll be there, soon, darling," said Eddie. The bottle of lube clicked and Waylon kept his eyes trained forward on the clocked partition. Poor David. At least he was spared the view of Waylon's ass bare and Eddie's swaying cock.

The finger that pressed against Waylon's exposed hole was slick and warm. Eddie had obviously coated his finger and rubbed them together for friction warmth. It felt luxurious when he rubbed the pads of his fingers in a circular motion around Waylon's hole.

"You're filthy darling-sinful," said Eddie, leaning forward to nip at Waylon's ear while his fingers circled his opening in long, lazy strokes. "You're going to cum all over yourself then walk up there to win an Academy Award..." Eddie pressed in and the tip of one finger breached Waylon's slick hole. "Is that the kind of whore you are?"

"I'm your whore," said Waylon, moaning as he arched his back and pushed toward Eddie's caress. "I'm only like this for you, and when you walk up there to accept your award, you won't be able to stop thinking about me on my knees in this limousine."

The sentiment ended when Eddie sunk two fingers deep inside of Waylon, the lubrication helping them slide easily into his ass. "You're such a slut, still stretched out from this morning in the shower, but still begging for more."

"I can't get enough of you, ever."

Eddie pushed up on his knees behind Waylon and the sharp sound of a condom wrapper ripping open breaks the spell in the cabin. Eddie rolled the condom over his dick and slicked it up with excess lube from his fingers. Then, Waylon felt him line up his cock with his bare hole.

Waylon groaned as Eddie's cock head butted up against his ass before sliding past his rim and sinking deeper inside.

"Such a good little slut," said Eddie, hips jutting forward as he reached maximum depth. "All for me."

"Only you, Eddie,"

"You're all mine."

Eddie thrust forward, hands gripping tight into Waylon's hipbones and ramming deep inside. It was pure bliss. Waylon never got enough of having Eddie inside of him. Even with a condom between them, Eddie's cock is thick and the stretch felt almost too much even with Waylon's tolerance. The heavy drag of Eddie in and out quickly transformed Waylon into a moaning mess.

Unfortunately, just when Eddie started to thrust steady inside of Waylon, the limousine pulled up to a large crowd of people.

Waylon prayed to the gods of window tint and limousine suspension.

"Looks like we're here," said Eddie, slowly driving his cock in and out of Waylon's ass while maneuvering him to face out the side window of the limousine toward the crowd.

Waylon groans as Eddie picked up the pace, pushing him slightly forward on his knees with each push. The scratch of the fabric of Eddie's suit against Waylon's' bare asscheeks makes everything more obscene.

"They have no idea you're in here getting fucked," said Eddie, increasing the pace of his thrusts. Waylon groaned and struggled to push back, but Eddie's hand on the back of his head pressed him forward instead. Until Waylon's head was butted up against the limousine window.

"Please, Eddie…"

"They have no idea you're in here begging like a little whore," said Eddie, grinding his hips deeper and harder, suit fabric rubbing against Waylon's ass.

"Guys, we're third in line for getting out here at the venue," said David, over the intercom. His voice managed to sound shaky even over the tinny speaker.

Waylon moaned loudly in response.

"Two...more...minutes," groaned Eddie. His hips speared deeper into Waylon, causing him to rock forward, face squishing against the glass with every motion. Eddie offered no recovery, only driving forward with punishing thrusts, racing toward his own release.

Waylon's eyes squinted to take in the view of reporters, fans, and industry people alike milling outside the window. Oblivious to the fact that he was feet away getting plowed by heartthrob Eddie Gluskin.

It was too much. Waylon's mind flew into a panic. He fumbled with his hand and came in contact with one of the empty glass cups in the limousine. He clutched it tight and moved it in front of him, taking his cock in the other hand. Without his arms to brace himself, he fully laid against the window, breath fogging up the glass.

Eddie growled into his ear, hands groping up along Waylon's suit and tugging violently on his tie. "My good little slut. Are you going to come for me? Come hard and think of me all night long?"

Waylon cried out when he spilled, being crushed between Eddie and the limousine door. He milked himself into the limousine's glass, moaning as he felt his hole clenching down on Eddie and sending him into a frenzy.

It felt like an eternity before Waylon's cock stopped twitching into the cup, and Eddie's movements slowed as he fucked through his own orgasm. He leaned forward, kissing and nuzzling into Waylon's sweaty curls as he held himself inside.

"The way you clamp down," said Eddie, kissing behind Waylon's ear. "The way your rim flutters against my cock...so perfect."

The limousine crept to life, moving inches forward in the long line of cars.

"Guys, we're there, they're expecting you to exit soon…"

Eddie sat back, sliding out of Waylon with a satisfied sigh. Waylon heard the sounds of him removing and tying off the condom. It was seconds before Waylon had enough strength to push away from the door and stared down at the glass in his hand. The bottom was coated with a thick layer of cum and smears dripped down almost all of the sides. Waylon set the masterpiece aside in the cupholder of the limousine with a frown.

"We need to make sure David doesn't clean up the limo…"

"We need to hurry, darling, our public awaits…"

Waylon glared back at Eddie, somehow looking polished save for the flushed complexion on his face. He zipped up his pants, adjusted his tie, and looked ready to face the masses.

"Come on, darling, we're next…"

* * *

David opened the door to the limousine, and the photographers took off. Probably no one noticed the flaming red embarrassment visible on David's ears-or if they did, they assumed he was shy of the camera flash.

Eddie emerged, first, standing tall in his black Armani suit with a black silk tie. He waited with his hand outstretched to help Waylon out in his similar Armani suit in bright blue with a metallic silver tie.

Eddie held tight to Waylon's hand, and their eyes focused on one another. The flashbulbs and screams might as well have been from another planet for all the attention they paid.

There were handlers on the carpet directing them towards press set up along the way to the entrance to the venue. There were no requirements to speak with the press, but Waylon knew that Eddie would speak to a few of the larger news agencies, and those with which he had a good rapport.

One over-zealous reporter managed to shove a microphone into Waylon's face. "How do you feel about Jeremy Blaire being behind bars?"

"That's where he belongs, but eight years isn't long enough," said Waylon, shrugging aside the reporter.

"You don't have to answer them," said Eddie, pulling him close and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders. "You just say "No Comment."

"Waylon! What do you say to Jeremy Blaire's accusations that you and Eddie Gluskin were only dating to promote the movie _Mainstream_?"

Waylon stopped walking, causing Eddie to halt next to him. He shifted his eyes left, then right, leaned in close to the microphone and whispered, "No Comment."

The confused reporter was left standing with his mic in hand and jaw dropped as Waylon walked away, trailing Eddie behind him.

"You're a natural, darling."

"Oh, hey! Look, it's Miles," said Waylon.

"Ugh, do I have to talk to him?" asked Eddie.

"You two have to be friends if we're going to stay together," said Waylon, grinning, "But I know you have other people to talk to. Don't go in to sit down without me."

"I wouldn't dare," said Eddie before making his way toward a line of major TV News outlets set up in a major area of the red carpet.

"Miles," said Waylon, jogging over. "How ya like the new job? It's so weird to see you going mainstream, instead of hanging out in the alleys with the paparazzi."

"Yeah, I'm dead inside," said Miles, sighing into his microphone. "Listen, can you just tell me who you're wearing and fuck off?"

"Miles."

"Sorry, but I got like, another twelve hours of this shit before I get to head to this after party by some producer, I don't' really know the guy, but I'm going as plus one to that hot MMA guy you introduced me to…"

"No, Miles," said Waylon, frowning, "you're not allowed to date Chris."

"Aw, sugarplum, you worried about me dating someone else?" asked Miles, fluttering is lashes. "Or are you jealous?"

"No, I'm worried about Chris—he's too good for you."

"Ouch," said Miles, holding his hand up over his heart, "you're cold, butterbean. Anyways, I gotta ask you some minimum amount of questions or something…"

A woman in a dress suit wearing a headset leaned closer to whisper something into Miles' ear. It sounded distinctly unhappy.

"So, Waylon, what are you wearing?"

"My suit is Armani," said Waylon, preening slightly.

"Are you excited about going in there to win an Oscar?"

"I'm excited that _Eddie_ is going to be winning an Oscar."

"How are things with you and Eddie?"

"Better than ever," said Waylon, smirking. "We fucked in the limo on the way over here."

"Oh, yeah? Is his dick bigger than mine?"

The same female in the dress suit covered Miles' microphone and screamed, "Stop being inappropriate or you are _fired_ , immediately, I don't' care who speaks up in your defense, understood?"

"Well, Waylon, best of luck in there, good to talk to you," said Miles, holding the microphone as far away as humanly possible in his mostly healed hand, "and you're totally telling me about the dick thing later."

"Later, Miles," said Waylon, walking back in the direction he had seen Eddie take. He spotted him in the distance, speaking with a pair of news anchors while cameras rolled.

"Mr. Park," came a small voice from the side of the red carpet. Waylon wandered over and smiled at the tiny girl holding up a microphone and a handheld recorder. "Hello, do you mind if I ask you a couple questions?"

"Sure," said Waylon, smiling. "Are you a real news reporter?"

"Yes, I'm with _Hollywood Reality Online_ ," said the girl, defensively. The website sounded fake but then again most did. "How do you feel _Mainstream's_ chances are here tonight?"

"I'd say pretty good, we have a great team, wonderful director, and we're up for six categories including two for Best Actor so I would say there's a good chance we are leaving here with some gold."

"You had a crush on Eddie Gluskin long before you two met, how does it feel to be dating your idol?"

"Good," said Waylon, grinning. "Really good. I mean, they always tell you some nonsense like, don't meet your idols, they'll just disappoint you. But Eddie really was better than I anticipated, and even though we've had our ups and downs, I think he's the greatest thing in the world still, more now than I did then. I love him so much."

"Do you have any response to those that support Jeremy Blaire's stance that you slept with him to get the part and to secure a spot as Eddie Gluskin's boyfriend?"

"Yeah, my response is Fuck Jeremy Blaire." Waylon smiled sweetly before walking to join Eddie, in the middle of another interview.

"It feels like we're seeing a different Eddie Gluskin, this feels more like you in the early 2000s…"

"That's because I don't feel the need to censor myself as much, now that I'm with Waylon. I can be myself. And it's very nice."

"Are you two nervous? Is there going to be fighting in the Gluskin household tonight?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Waylon, walking into the camera frame to put an arm around Eddie's waist. "When Eddie Wins…"

"If, darling, you are likely to win," said Eddie, turning to stare only at Waylon, ignoring the cameras.

"When Eddie wins, I'm gonna be the happiest man in the room, cheering louder than anyone else…"

"And when Waylon wins, I'll be the one helping him walk up to accept his reward, because I know he's going to be too shocked to move…"

Waylon laughed, turning to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck and pull him close for a soft nuzzle. "Win or lose, either one of us, I already know I'm taking home the biggest prize of all." Waylon kissed Eddie, and the cameraman hummed out loud.

"I know, they're disgusting," said the reporter woman laughing as the camera refocused back on her and away from the public display of affection. "Good luck to both Eddie Gluskin and Waylon Park, both nominated for the Best Actor award for their movie _Mainstream_ , also up for Best Picture. Go get 'em, boys!"

* * *

The Awards were more boring in person. Instead of commercials, there were long drawn out set changes and even longer periods spent announcing technical awards for films and makeup and everything associated with movies.

Songs and performances were more entertaining, but they were so complicated with their set up and commencement that Waylon found himself nodding-off. Except for the moments when _Mainstream_ made the billing.

The first major award came up for Best Original Screenplay.

Waylon had met the men that were responsible for writing the screenplay for _Mainstream_ on one occasion. They were eccentric and funny. The fact that they had come up with such a compelling screenplay about the industry meant they both had backgrounds in pornography and filmmaking in general. They were good guys.

Eddie kept a straight face when the announcers came up and gave their speech about the importance of original screenplays in the industry.

"This is a big one," whispered Waylon, leaning in.

"Shh, darling," said Eddie, without moving his head and only barely moving his lips," they might show us on camera because it's about our movie."

"So what, I can't ask you a simple question?" asked Waylon. "Do you think they'll win?"

"Shhh!" Eddie's last admonishment echoed when the announcers began their final speech.

"And the nominees for Best Original Screenplay are…"

Each name was followed by a snippet from the movie, played on a giant screen for the entire assemblage of accomplished actors and movie personnel. Waylon blanched when he saw the chosen scene from _Mainstream_.

"You were the one who told me I was worth something, even when everyone else threw me away," said Waylon, as Randall. "I should have fought, run, I don't know…"

"Don't throw me away, Felix…"

"No…I could never…"

The scene ended to raucous applause, and Waylon watched all of the others. None of them moved him as much as the quick clip from _Mainstream_. That could only mean one thing.

"The winner of the Academy Award for Best Original Screen Play is…"

Waylon held his breath, and squeezed Eddie's hand…

"… _Vietnam Morning_ …"

Waylon's heart sank.

"Oh God," said Waylon.

"It doesn't mean anything about your category," said Eddie, clapping politely while the cameras panned around, showing the reaction of the crowd. "Please, clap, darling…"

And Waylon forced himself to clap, but he realized he could be sorely mistaken. Perhaps _Mainstream_ wasn't the sure-thing he had anticipated. Maybe Eddie wouldn't win the Best Actor award. What would he do if he had to console Eddie after a tragic loss to _Vietnam Morning_?"

The remainder of the categories turned into a blur. What could possibly happen at the end of the night if _Mainstream_ won none of the major awards? Could they really fall back on their nominations? Sure it was an honor just to be nominated, but Eddie had been nominated before and been in several movies that won for other categories.

But he'd never brought home the main prize.

Waylon knew it had to be the night. There was no doubt in his mind. Everything was a blur until he heard the announcement for the presenters for the category of Best Actor in a Leading Role.

The previous year's winner took the stage and began his introductions, just as Eddie leaned in closer. "Breathe, darling, you look constipated."

"I feel constipated."

"The cameras will be on our faces when they announce, and when you win, you'll have to stand up and I hope you were joking about not having prepared a speech…"

"You know I didn't prepare a speech," said Waylon, chuckling softly to himself before turning to look at Eddie, "you're going to win."

"Now the nominees for Best Actor in a Leading Role…"

"…Eddie Gluskin in _Mainstream…_ "

* * *

The scene opens on Felix, opposite his wife, Sarah, standing in their rundown living room.

"When were you gonna tell me?" asks Sarah, voice quiet.

"I don't see how my financial success is any of your business," says Felix with a scoff. "You're tha one that kicked me out of tha house-you said I wasn't going nowhere, you said I couldn't make nothing of myself—but you were wrong, Sar. Wrong.

"I got a client now, and he ain't gonna stop until he's at the top, he's about to land a real movie deal, and I'm a real manager. You were wrong, facts is facts."

"Not that," says Sarah, eyes flashing as she glares at Felix, standing near the door. "When were you gonna tell me that you were gay?"

Felix stiffens. His entire body tenses and visibly turns cold. He puts one hand on the door and starts to open it before pausing to turn over his shoulder and replying in a hard whisper, "Who I decide to be with is none of your business—it stopped being your business when you kicked me out and served me the papers. And if I decide to be with a man, it's because that man deserves all of my love, and I gotta work hard to be the man who's worthy of his love in return…"

The door opens, and slams shut behind him

* * *

"…Waylon Park in _Mainstream…_ "

* * *

"I didn't want it," says Randall, whispering the words like a mantra, "I didn't want it, I didn't want it, I only want to be with you."

Felix pulls Randall tight against his chest as Randall devolves into a sobbing mess. Randall's shoulders shake and his body heaves as he cries into Felix's shoulder.

"I know," says Felix, shushing softly, "I know."

"I hated it," sobs Randall, fingers clutching at Felix's silky shirt. "I hated it, I hated it." A loud, keening sob breaks off the litany.

"I know, baby," says Felix, rubbing his hands up and down Randall's back.

"I did it for you, I did it because I wanted to stay with you, and I shouldn't bother, I shouldn't even try, I don't deserve you…"

* * *

There were other actors, other clips, other men in attendance considering that evening the most important night of their lives. But when the cameras zoomed in on the faces of the contestants, broadcasting their faces onto the screens, Eddie and Waylon stared at each other, causing their projected images to seem to be staring.

"And the winner…

Waylon squeezed Eddie's hand on the armrest between them.

…for Best Actor in a Leading Role…"

Eddie leaned over and whispered, "I love you, Waylon."

"goes to…"

Waylon's jaw dropped as he stared at Eddie. He loved him. Eddie Gluskin loved him. He had suspected, but Eddie had never said so in so many words. And suddenly, nothing about the night and the ceremony mattered. The man he loved and had admired for years, loved him back, despite everything. Despite Jeremy, and porn, and jealousy, and all of the mistakes they'd made during their first months together.

Waylon sobbed out of happiness and threw his arms around Eddie's neck.

"I love you too, Eddie, I love you so much, I love..."

"You need to go and give your speech, darling…"

"You mean, you need to go and give _your_ speech…"

Waylon's name was emblazoned across the screen.

He won. He was the winner. Eddie loved him, and he won an Oscar.

Turning in his chair, Waylon pressed his lips to Eddie's and before he closed his eyes he saw them kissing on the big screen out of the corner of his eye. He kissed Eddie like he never wanted it to end…

* * *

A/N: Thank you to Ria'Latsyrc, this work is dedicated to you on since you were my only reader and reviewer most of the time. You have no idea how much that means to me. I'm thankful that when I post to a less popular venue I still have someone here to read along and get excited about the updates so THANK YOU, a million times, I hope you enjoyed the ending and found the story to be a good read. Much love, Peg


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